#The Whims of an Aristocrat

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Note: The fic gets a bit saucy, so A18+ ONLY just to be safe!

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, kissing, making out, boobs, fondling, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Its mid-afternoon in the UA library. The early Spring sunlight is streaming through the tall windows and across the sci-fi novel you're flipping through. You sigh; content to finally have a Saturday off after a grueling few weeks of classes, training and internship activities.

You think back to a particularly tough training session that had taken place the day before - you had finally kicked Shoto Todoroki's ass in front of the whole class. You smile as you remember the shocked look on his face as you reached down to help him back to his feet.

"You had it coming, hot stuff." You winked as he grabbed your hand and let you pull him back to standing position. His face had flushed red in humiliation at the loss.

You're suddenly jerked out of your reverie when a figure looms over you, casting a long shadow on the desk before you. You turn, startled. As if pulled from your daydream, Shoto Todoroki has materialized before you – tall and handsome. You look up at him in surprise, mouth half open.

"I think we should kiss." Shoto's deep voice says above you, his tone neutral.

"Huh?" Your mouth drops fully open. Shoto is looking down at you with eyes alight with determination. That cute blush is back - splashed across his pale cheeks and across his aristocratic nose.

"I was thinking back to our fight yesterday, and the reason why I lost. It was because I was thinking about kissing you the whole time. I let myself get distracted. I think that if we kissed, I could get over it and refocus on training." So matter-of-fact! That was one thing you liked about Shoto - he was straightforward.

"Um...okay." With an effort, you close your gaping mouth. You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Shoto has never shown any romantic interest in you before. You’ve never caught wandering eyes on you in class, he’s never stashed a love note in your locker. None of the typical school love tropes have been leveraged here. If anything, the two of you are loose acquaintances on the cusp of being friends. Maybe a few more months of class and group activities together would have helped you bridge the gap and fully form a decent friendship.

You wonder if he’s been into you all this time, or if this is just a whim he’s exploring. Either way - who are you to let an opportunity to kiss a hot guy go by the wayside? You snap your book shut and stand. "You want to do this right now?"

Shoto nods, and turns to walk away with the expectation that you’ll follow. You get up and sweep your things into your bag, heart beating double time. You quickly jog to catch up with Shoto – he’s already out the door. The two of you walk across the UA grounds in silence, your footsteps falling into a soft rhythm.  Your mind is going at a million miles per minute – could this all be an elaborate prank? Shoto has never struck you as the type to play a cruel joke on a classmate. Quite the opposite – when he’s not training he seems so soft and sweet. He strikes you as more of an introvert than anything else. He keeps people at a safe distance. You’ve always been under the impression that when it comes to Shoto, trust is earned, not freely given.

You wonder if this kissing business means that you’ve earned a bit of that trust? Who’s to say.

“So…” you say, attempting to break the tension. “Where are we going?” 

Shoto looks back at you, confused. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to my dorm room.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Wouldn’t that be a bit inappropriate? Like, what if someone catches us kissing in your dorm room? Won’t we get in trouble?”

“I’ll lock the door.” He says sensibly. “It’s no one’s business but ours.”

“Huh.”

“Oh – I think I understand what you’re getting at.” He runs a hand through his hair reflexively. “It’s no wonder you’re one of the top members of the class. A good hero always has a strategy. So we should come up with an alibi.” He brings his thumb to his chin as he stares into space, pondering.

“If someone catches us, I can say that I experimentally froze my lips with my power and that I asked you to help me warm them up. Naturally, the best way to do so was with your lips.” He turns to you expectantly to gauge your reaction.

What the actual hell, Shoto.                                                          

“You’re um…you’re fucking with me, right?” You look at him uncertainly. Shoto’s unusually harsh upbringing has caused him to be shockingly literal at times. Your eyes scan his face until the corner of his mouth quirks upwards into a small smile.

“Yes, I am.”

You burst out laughing at the unexpected joke, and his tiny smile grows into a full grin. He likes making you laugh.

“Listen…” He says reassuringly, “No one is going to bother us – it’s such a nice day. I overheard some of the girls saying they were going to take pictures near the campus cherry blossom trees. They roped Midoriya, Ida and a few other classmates into the activity as well. Bakugo, Kirishima and Sero are all training across campus in the gym. We should have at least an hour or two before anyone comes seriously looking for us.”

Wow. That must be the longest group of sentences he’s ever said to you directly.

“You’ve really thought this through.” You say, following him across the threshold of Class 1A’s dorm complex.

He smirks. “I’m strategic.”

You look at him appraisingly. He looks clean and trim in his tailored UA uniform. Aside from the scar surrounding his eye, he has the most perfect skin of anyone in your class. While the rest of your classmates have been stressing about moisturizer and SPF and acne treatments, you’ve watched Shoto sail through his hormonal teens without a skincare care in the world. The skin of his cheeks is the color of porcelain and looks so, so soft and deliciously kissable. His face holds a mixture of determination and apprehension.

You enter the kitchen and common room area of your dorm and see that it’s completely, blessedly empty - odd for a Saturday. Shoto is right - it is one of the first nice spring days on campus. You assume everyone is out enjoying the nice weather as he said. This is a good thing – it means your clandestine meeting with Shoto can stay secret. Everyone in Class 1A can be so nosy sometimes. You’re determined to keep this juicy little secret between the two of you.

He leads you up towards one of the hallways that encompasses the boy’s dorms, pausing in front of his door to fiddle with his key. His usually steady hands are shaking a bit as he turns the lock and pushes open the door to reveal his immaculately clean bedroom with it’s traditional Japanese décor.

You step inside and slide off your shoes, letting your bag drop to the floor.

“I forgot how traditional your space is, Shoto.”

He closes the door behind you and clicks the lock into place before discarding his keys on his desktop. He looks around the dorm room thoughtfully.

“It’s how I grew up. I never really had the chance to develop my own taste or style.”

“Maybe now that you have your own space, you finally can!” You say enthusiastically. “If you’d ever like to go shopping or want help putting together a Pinterest board, Mina and I can definitely help you find some inspiration.”

His flat line of a mouth quirks up into another small smile. “I haven’t really had the time to think about anything other than school work and the L.o.V. since we moved into the dorms. Maybe you’re right – this could be an opportunity to broaden my horizons. See what I like.”

“Yeah! There are so many fun ways you can bring more of yourself into this space. We can start with a throw pillow.” You say knowledgably, pulling up the Pinterest app on your phone. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

You type the color into the search bar, and immediately the screen is flooded with hundreds of different shades of blue throw pillows – all kinds of patterns and sayings and beading and embroidery. You hand him your phone and encourage him to scroll through the options.

“I’m sure we can find something that makes you feel like you.”

His eyes soften a bit as he takes the phone from you, intrigued. He scrolls through the colorful images, overwhelmed by the options. After a few minutes of careful deliberation, he finally stops and double taps a picture, hyperlinking to a website.

“This. This feels like it could be me.” He sends himself the link so he can purchase the pillow later. He hands back your phone and you take a curious look – the image he’s drawn to is a long rectangle of fabric shaped like a whale. It has navy blue stripes along with a small curved tale and button eyes sewn on. You look up and see that the tips of Shoto’s ears are bright red.

“This isn’t what I was expecting – but I see now that it suits you perfectly.” You say, picturing the whale pillow in his room – a dash of whimsy against the otherwise stuffy outdated décor.  He practically glows at the compliment. You realize that this is likely one of the first times someone is validating a choice he has made for himself. You cough and toss your phone into your discarded bag – the moment feels oddly intimate.

Shoto’s eyes scan across your face and he speaks his next words slowly, almost deliberately. “This is what I’ve always liked about you, y/n. You always seem to know what to say to get someone to smile or to open up. Admirable traits in a future hero.” You feel your own face heating up at the sweet compliment. Shoto has never given you so much direct attention outside of class, and it’s exciting and almost unnerving to have those two intense eyes focused in entirely on you.

“Thank you Shoto, that’s a very kind thing to say.” You suddenly realize how very close Shoto’s face is to your own. He’s only a few breaths away. Shoto is a few inches taller than you, so you need to crane your neck in order to get the full picture of his beautiful face. You wonder nervously if he expects you to initiate – should you reach out and grab his face? Your heart starts beating much too fast and you see his intense eyes dart down to your lips, wanting. You take a step closer to him, leaning up to meet his face, and…

“Let’s get started.” He says abruptly, breaking the moment. He walks over to his closet and pulls out his bedroll, hastily moving to set up his sleeping space so that you’ll have a comfortable place to sit. Once he sets up the space, he takes a seat on the soft mattress and motions for you to join him. This wasn’t really what you were expecting, but you remember that Shoto is pretty sheltered. He clearly has a plan in mind here, so you decide to let him take the lead.

“Alright, before we start – I just want you to know that we can stop at any point you’d like. I want you to be comfortable here, so please let me know if at any time you feel like you don’t want to continue. Ok?”

You nod, appreciating the dialogue and Shoto’s forethought surrounding consent.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Leaning his head back, he exhales slowly through his nostrils. After a moment of deep breathing, his eyes flutter open. “It’s an exercise my father taught me for clearing my nerves before a battle.” He explains as he runs a nervous hand through his two-toned hair.

“Are you anticipating a battle here?” You tease, reaching over to place your hand on his thigh. Shoto eyes the hand curiously before matching your gaze.

“Of course not. But surprisingly – I have the same feeling of anxiety now that I usually have right before a sparring match.” His expression is stone cold serious, not even the hint of a joke this time.

“I understand that. It’s nerve wracking to kiss a person for the first time.” You quickly double back on your words. “N-not that I’m implying that this is your first kiss or anything, I-”

Shoto blinks. “Oh – this is my first kiss. I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“Oh! Oh, Todoroki – I didn’t realize!” You trip over your words a bit and it brings out a soft smile in Shoto.

“I think that’s why I’ve been so distracted lately. Once I know how it feels, maybe then I can move on and focus back on my training and studies. Is this not your first kiss?” He tilts his head to the side, questioning. You see no hint of jealousy in his eyes – he’s legitimately curious.

“N-no. I’ve kissed a few people before. Never anything serious! Just here and there at summer camp.” You smile weakly, face burning. Shoto nods appreciatively at your candid answer.

“That makes sense – you’re very competent at everything you do. And very attractive.” This last part brings a blush across Shoto’s pale cheeks. “I had assumed there were plenty of people who have wanted to be kissed by you.” The compliment is unexpected and it makes a laugh bubble up your throat. You start giggling and Shoto seems taken by surprise.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No – no! You’re just so sincere and sweet and I am so nervous right now. Shoto you’re competent and attractive, too. I hope that you know that!” This brings his smile back out again, like the sunshine after a long rainstorm.

“Why don’t we just get it over with, then? I’ve read a few articles and studied some movies and…well, I think I’m as prepared as I can be.” Shoto’s face is so open and earnest your heart squeezes in your chest. He studied for this??

Slowly, carefully, Shoto reaches out a delicate hand to cradle the side of your face. He scoots somewhat awkwardly closer to you, but the rest of his movements hold his typical grace. He leans forward, eyes half closed, and brings his lips to your own.

You dip your head to receive the kiss, and you feel his soft lips melt against yours. You close your eyes and revel in the feeling of his mouth. Everything about him is soft and electric at the same time – the points where your bodies are connected feel charged with some kind of buzzing energy that leaves your breathless. And just as soon as it’s begun – it’s over. A brief peck, a stolen moment in time. Shoto pulls away from you, eyes wide, as he catches his breath.

“So?” You ask, trying for nonchalance but failing when you realize your voice is just a hoarse whisper. “What did you think?”

“It’s…” Shoto looks at you thoughtfully, touching his fingers to his tingling lips. “It wasn’t what I was expecting. I just feel like I want to do it more – like I need to keep going.”

You laugh – “Did you really think you’d want to stop after your first kiss?” Shoto shrugs, unwilling to answer the question.

“Can we kiss again? Please. If you’d like to, that is?” He asks, and you note the want in his voice. You’ve never heard Shoto Todoroki sound desperate for anything in his life before this moment. You’re surprised at how he sounds fairly desperate for you.

You smile at him and lean in close, bringing your foreheads together. You can feel different temperatures playing across his skin as he works to keep his quirk in check as excitement roars across his body.

“Follow my lead, lover-boy.” You whisper, before crashing your lips together. You move at a faster pace this time, showing him how to slide his mouth against yours to have a proper make out. He picks it up quickly and absolutely relishes in it. His eyes are closed and his hands find either side of your face again. You let him hold you like that for a few minutes before you decide to take the reigns a bit more. You reach out to place a hand on his chest and softly push him away from you.

“Here – this will make things a lot easier.” You stand up and move to straddle him, slowly sliding into his lap and wrapping your legs around his back. You place his hands on your waist and wind your arms around his neck. “Comfortable?” He nods, his eyes blown wide and almost glassy with lust.

“This is okay?” He asks, looking down at the way his hands grip your hips.

“Absolutely. You’re going to want them there for leverage.”

“Leverage?” He asks weakly, his eyes trained on your lips.

“You’ll see.” You smile deviously as you take in how absolutely undone Shoto looks. “Okay, next step – have you done any research on French kissing?”

Shoto nods again, looking a bit uncertain. “I watched a romantic comedy online and at the end the main couple kissed that way.”

“Well it’s super easy – I’ll walk you through it.” You tilt your head towards his and melt your lips back together, starting out with a slow and soft kiss. As he begins to get comfortable with the pace of your kissing, you move to deepen it – running the tip of your tongue across his lips. He naturally opens his mouth to you, and you move so that your tongues meet. You guide him into a light dance, your kisses becoming more frantic as your mouths and tongues collide. This brings out a ferocity in Shoto that you hadn’t expected, and you feel his hands grip your hips with almost bruising force. You groan, turned on by the contact. You automatically rock your hips into his and he stills at the motion. You blush as you realize that you can feel Shoto’s dick becoming hard beneath you. Shit.

His hands fly off of your hips and he sits back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry-” you start to say as he runs his hand anxiously through his hair again. Shoto takes a deep breath and looks at you, eyes still fuzzy.

“Don’t be sorry! That was amazing, I just…didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He looks down between you pointedly. He doesn’t want you to get freaked out by the fact that he’s got a boner.

“Oh I’m not uncomfortable at all! Actually, quite the opposite.” This answer makes Shoto’s sculpted eyebrows fly up into his hair.

“Really?” He whispers.

“Yeah. It’s actually really hot.” You reach down and take his hands in yours, moving them back to your hips. You make piercing eye contact with Shoto as you roll your hips experimentally again – feeling his hardness even through your clothes. He groans at the contact this time, a soft sound that is just: So. Goddamn. Hot.

You grind against him again, picking up a steady rhythm as Shoto enthusiastically moves your hips. Struck by sudden inspiration, you lean forward to kiss a sloppy line up his neck. This draws a moan from Shoto that you weren’t expecting – low and sweet. You smile as you continue to kiss his neck, using your tongue when you find a particularly sensitive spot beneath his ear.

Shoto grabs your face with one hand and tilts your head up before crashing his lips back into yours. His kisses are heated and passionate as he bounces you on his lap, making you both see stars. You’re so wet you can feel yourself soaking through your panties. You pray that your school uniform pants won’t get damp beneath you – how embarrassing would that be?! At the same time - you don’t give a damn; Shoto’s mouth and his hands and his dick feel far too good. At the moment kissing Shoto Todoroki feels like the only thing you were put on this goddamn earth to do.

Tentatively, you feel Shoto’s hands wander up from your hips. You moan into his mouth as his hands find your breasts. “How is this?” He whispers hoarsely, running delicate fingertips across the peaks of your breasts. “Is this okay? I can stop if you want me to.” You moan your consent enthusiastically, and when he begins to softly knead your boobs over your shirt, your hormones fully take the wheel.

You hop off your classmate so you can quickly unbutton your shirt – your tie flying off as you work. Shoto remains sitting on the floor and does the same with his own uniform. In a moment he is sitting shirtless and beautiful before you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath. He stares at you with bright eyes as you stand above him in nothing but a bra and UA’s uniform slacks. He has never seen a woman with so little clothing on before, and he is in awe.

You kneel down beside him on the bedroll and reach out to touch his perfect body. Your hand hovers above his perfectly sculpted abs and you look up at him, eyes asking permission. He nods, giving you his blessing to touch. You smooth your fingertips lightly across the defined planes of his chest and abs, marveling in all that he is. Your palm comes to rest against his chest and you feel his heartbeat – a quick staccato beneath your delicate hand. You push him lightly so that he moves to lie on the ground before you.

“You alright with all this?” You whisper, moving slowly to straddle him on the ground.

“If I get to have you on top of me again – absolutely.” And he grins – a genuine smile that radiates comfort. You’ve never seen a look like that before on Shoto’s face and it stops you in your tracks. You just want to bask in the glow of the rare gift of his beaming face.

After a moment, you collect yourself and move so that you’re on all fours and hovering over him. You shiver – you’ve never been so close to someone in this way before. He seems to notice your hesitation.

“You look cold – do you want to grab a blanket?” He reaches up and runs his hands up and down your arms, giving you more goose bumps. You nod, and he reaches to grab a thick grey knit blanket that’s folded neatly to your left. He pulls you down to lay on top of him and easily casts the blanked across your intertwined bodies. The knit feels luxurious and expensive – and it smells deliciously like Shoto. A scent that’s a mixture of sandalwood and fresh sheets wafts around you. It’s comfortable and warm and you feel so, so happy to be sharing this moment with Shoto.

He wraps his arms around you and feels himself get hard again at the delicate feeling of your bare skin against his own. He pulls you in for a kiss – and this time the passion is slow, sensual. You’ve never kissed someone like this before – like you have all the time in the world. He moves his hands up and down your bare back beneath the blanket – warming you up. He’s keeping his ice quirk at bay – both of his hands are the perfect temperature as they run across your soft, supple skin. His hands come to rest on your lower back as he moves to experimentally kiss down your collarbone.

“Oh! Oh, Shoto, yes.” Is all you can say. The use of his given name seems to turn him on even more, because his kisses become sloppier and he runs the edge of his teeth against your skin. He continues to kiss down your shoulder, pausing for only a moment in order to roll you both over so that he can have a turn on top. You gasp at the sudden movement – the dynamics have unexpectedly shifted and Shoto is in total control.

He gazes down at you, shifting the blanket so that it doesn’t get tangled between your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, a note of wonder in his voice. “Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.” He runs a light fingertip across the delicate skin of your neck and across the expanse of your collarbone. He watches as he runs his finger down the slope of one of your breasts, stopping when he meets the soft cotton of your bra.

“Can we take this off?” He whispers, moving to palm your breast over the delicate white material. You nod, and prop yourself up so you can reach behind yourself to unclip the clothing. With a light “pop!” the bra clip comes undone and Shoto helps you discard the item. He takes in your breasts with a look of absolute amazement and cautiously reaches out to touch them. He gently runs the palm of his hand across your right breast experimentally. You gasp at the contact, and he nervously glances at your face to make sure you’re not in any discomfort. You smile at him, encouraging him to keep going. He kneads the breast in his strong hand a few times before experimentally rolling his thumb over your nipple. You gasp at the contact as pleasure surges through you – you had no idea you were so sensitive. Shoto repeats the motion, earning a soft moan. He smiles at the praise – unexpectedly mischievous as he moves so that he’s kneeling over you, able to tackle a breast with each hand. He goes to work pinching and massaging and rolling your breasts between deft fingers, drawing the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

“Shoto!” You cry out as he moves to spread more kisses across your neck as his left hand plays with one of your breasts. You reach down and squeeze the muscular plane of his ass, begging him to grind into you. He gets the message loud and clear – moving against you gently so that you can feel his hardness graze against you.

He’s causing so many delicious sensations across your body with his lips, hands, hips, groin – it’s almost too much. You feel like you might drown in him when suddenly –

A knock on the door causes you both to still.

“Todoroki?” Mr. Aizawa’s voice is muffled behind the door. You’re both rigid with fear. Shoto’s lips are at your neck and his breath tickles your bare skin. Your fist is tightly squeezed around his left ass cheek. You stare at the ceiling as you start to panic, wondering wildly what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Mr. Aizawa knocks on the door again. “Todoroki – your father is here to see you.”

“My father?!” Shoto blurts out before he can stop himself. He scrambles off of you and looks around in a panic. “Why’s my father here?”

The walls seem to be thinner than you thought, because Mr. Aizawa supplies an answer from the other side of the locked door.

“Endeavor had a press conference at a hotel down the road this morning. He wanted to check in and discuss internships. I left him waiting in the common area. I’ll be in my office if you want to grab any internship paperwork while he’s here. I wouldn’t keep him waiting, kid.”

“Of course – thank you Mr. Aizawa!” Todoroki calls through the door awkwardly, listening as your teacher’s footsteps recede into the distance.

You and Shoto stare at each other in absolute horror.

“Do you think he heard us? Do you think h-he knows?” You whisper, panic lacing your voice.

Shoto shakes his head no as he gathers up his shirt and shakily tries to re-button it. “No – I don’t think he was out there long enough to hear anything incriminating.”

You let out a breath of anxious air, reaching for your discarded bra. “Thank goodness.” You re-clip your bra and shrug on your shirt.

“Endeavor is here?” You eye Shoto with concern as he dawns his tie and straightens his hair in a wall mirror on the back of his door.

“My old man likes to pop up at inconvenient times.” Content with his hair, he looks down at you. You’ve started to fold up his blanked and bedroll, patting down your own hair along the way.

“We should probably talk about what just happened…” He starts to say, but you shush him as you hear heavy footsteps coming from down the hall.

“Shoto!” A booming voice rings through the hallway, sending shivers up your spine. The heavy footsteps come to a stop right outside Shoto’s dorm door. The doorknob rattles as someone tries the lock. “How dare you keep me waiting!”

“I’ll be out in a minute, old man!” Shoto calls back bitingly. He glares at the door, thankful for the meager lock. He turns to look at you, and his eyes fill with panic. You scan the room for a place to hide – there is absolutely nowhere to conceal yourself in Shoto’s sparse, plain room.

Suddenly, you’re struck with inspiration – you point to the window. Shoto nods in agreement, dashing to grab your things from where they lay abandoned at the threshold of the door.

Quietly, you pad over to the window and pull back the curtains by a foot. You unlatch the window and slide it softly open before hoisting yourself into the wide window frame. It’s lucky you’re not afraid of heights – because Todoroki’s room is on the fifth floor. There is a small escape ladder for fire emergencies (you smile at the irony of Endeavor being the fire emergency in this case). You move to settle your feet on the top rung of the ladder, with plans to climb your way back to the ground so you can re-enter the dorm building from the back.

Shoto leans out the window and hangs your messenger bag around your shoulder.

“Find me later so we can discuss this.” He says, looking apprehensively over his shoulder as his father continues to bang on the door and callout his name. “I’m sorry this ended with you having to sneak out the window like some sort of criminal.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal! Makes it more exciting.” You grin and he smiles back. He leans forward and presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving back to close the window.

As he slides the glass closed, he says to you “I don’t think this is going to help me refocus. If anything, I’m more distracted than ever.” You give him a wink as he shuts the window soundly, drawing the curtains to cover your escape.

Hastily, you climb down 5 stories worth of thin metal ladder, landing gracefully in the soft spring grass. You walk to the dorm’s back entrance and let yourself in, walking past the laundry room and up towards the common area. Mina waves at you as she tosses some clothes into the washing machine, and you say a silent prayer thanking the powers that be that none of your friends had come looking for you while you spent your blissful hour hidden away, half-naked and moaning, in Shoto Todoroki’s room.

You climb the stairs two at a time until you hear the voice of the Number 2 Hero grumbling in the common area. Curious, you peak around the corner to see Shoto and his father seated on one of the couches, sorting through paperwork. Shoto has a dead look behind his eyes as his father lectured him about the importance of networking. He nods blankly a few times before his eyes catch sight of your small frame hiding around the corner. His entire face softens at the sight of you. Endeavor notices and turns to see what’s captured his son’s attention.

“You there! Are you a member of Class 1A?” He booms out, almost polite in his delivery. You walk out into the room, drawing yourself up to your full height.

“Dad – this is my classmate Y/N. She lives on the girl’s side of the dorm. Her quirk is extremely powerful.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Endeavor.” You say, trying not to blush at Shoto’s compliment. Endeavor waves you off with a fiery hand.

“Ah, that’s right. I recognize you from the Sport’s Festival. Your quirk and fighting style were both quite impressive.” He looks at you appraisingly. “Are you a close friend of Shoto’s?” 

“She is.” Shoto answers smoothly. “Actually, she’s been tutoring me a bit lately on some techniques I’m not familiar with. She’s a greatteacher.” The subtext is not lost on you.

“Surely you don’t need help in your studies, Shoto. You’re at the top of your class.” Endeavor says gruffly, looking to his son for further explanation.

“Just showing him a few moves I picked up in one of my martial arts classes, sir! Shoto picks up new techniques like a Pro.”

Endeavor seems mollified by this answer. “Of course he does. He’s on track to become the best of the best.” The hero claps his hand on Shoto’s shoulder proudly, and you smile weakly at the discomfort that flashes across Shoto’s eyes.

“Well – I’ll let you both get back to your work! Shoto – if you want to practice those techniques again later, I’ll be in the library until 8 tonight.”

You see Shoto ever so slightly lick his bottom lip. His face is tinged with the lightest of blushes.

“Got it. I’ll see you there, Y/N.”

You have a feeling that Shoto isn’t going to be able to focus on his studies for quite some time.

----------------------------------

PART 2

PART 3

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

[mayullla]

Title: The Wedding is Today

Character(s): Viscount (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: The wedding is today as you look at yourself in front of the mirror, wearing a white gown. Are you scared or are you broken? You weren't sure. Yet your time was limited till you become whole his.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Viscount x Fallen aristocrat!reader, F!reader, general yandere themes, manipulation (both physical and mental), power imbalance, forced marriage, loss of control, womb tattoo that is not sexual, forced servitude, 2k words

This is part two, click here for part one!

Dressed in the most beautiful white wedding dress, decorated with lace and pearls, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You had always dreamed of wearing a wedding dress; after all, it was something that you had always been told you would have. And you had always been fascinated by the idea of wearing a dress that was the image of purity and elegance. In the past, you thought you would have it with your ex-fiancé but instead of him you were to wed another man, someone so infatuated by you.

Even with carefully done hair and makeup, it could not hide your empty eyes.

Was this the result? It had been a long time since you last saw your face in the mirror. In that dark room, forced into the whims of that man, you didn't have much. There was no mirror there, just a bed, table, and desk, with most of your clothes and necessities brought by the silent servants.

Hollow eyes covered by a black cloth.

You felt weak, your body shivering as you pulled your eyes away from the mirror. Tears threatened to fall as you tried to hold them in, worried that you might ruin your makeup and irritate him, who only wanted perfection.

You didn't want this… you didn't want this at all.

You were marrying a monster.

Even if you wanted to escape, there was no way you could. He had made sure to snuff out all your ideas or thoughts of running away. That man had placed his hands all over you just to ensure that you could think of nothing but him, making sure you would never be able to run away even after you were finally let out from your prison. You still felt like a trapped bird.

Invisible chains locked your wrists, legs, neck, and hands, forcing you to dance to his orders. You could not stand up; it was as if something was holding your stomach down, a weight keeping you still on the chair as you waited for the time drawing near, challenging you to even think of trying. A white choker necklace tightened around your neck, making you conscious of every breath. Your back was straightened with a corset designed to keep your posture rigid, preventing you from even bending slightly.

He said that he had to make sure, after all, worried that you might hunch and cry while walking down the aisle, your face would be hidden with the white veil, but he just had to make sure of your shoulders and your back.

“Your tears are pretty. But if you don't give the crowd a happy cry then we shall keep most of that in private. Oh love, you are my precious and it is the same with your tears also. They should only be seen by me.”

Yet nothing could be as shameful as the womb sigil placed on your stomach the glowing ever so bright under the dark room when you were told to go to sleep late at night. A warmth it created that you didn't want. You would have preferred to freeze to death that feel this.

The viscount rambled about how much he adored you, his perfect doll, during the carriage ride, and how much you have improved in the past days that you stayed here. He commented on your suffering and how hard you were working just to please him. You flinched the moment he said that he could not wait to make it official that you were his. “In just a few hours my dear and all the world would know that you are mine forever.”

You didn't want to look at him. You didn't want to look at anyone.

“My lovely bride," his comments made you want to vomit as tears fell down to your skirt in the carriage. His hands touched your cheeks as he gently lifted your face. Your eyes met his, and not even a lick of pity or guilt was in them, nothing but obsession, lust, and thrill. "Aww… Let your tears out now, dear, so that later when they put on your makeup, you won't ruin it," he whispered as he moved his thumb to clean your tears from your cheeks. 

“I am the only one here with you right now. It is okay to cry.”

“My little dear is just so pretty. Sometimes I don't know if I could hold back later when you finally become fully mine." Lowering his head, you flinched again when he placed his chin near your neck, his hands wrapped around your waist. You could feel his cold skin against yours, hot from your emotions.

“I worry that I might just break you one day..."

None of the guests touched you when you arrived at the wedding hall only able to greet you with a bit of a distance; maids that worked under him had made sure of that. Small adjustments in the dress or helping you reach one place or another were all done by them. They worked efficiently, but you knew that their main job was to be watchdogs.

You could never stare into their eyes for too long, though. To someone who knew or who was sharp, it was obvious that the shine of life in them, meant to fool outsiders, still looked somehow fake.

You stared at the floor of the dressing room, zoned out. The music from the orchestra outside was loud yet muffled. You could hear people talking, enough to realize that the Viscount made sure that everybody attended just to see him put a lock on your finger.

In just a few minutes, you will belong to him, and you can do nothing to stop it.

It was difficult to breathe.

You didn't want to move at all when your feet started moving, tried to stop yourself when you felt a certain buzz in your core under your stomach again, warning you not to try anything.

You remember after all that time when you so desperately wanted to run away and were so close to doing so. Back then when the Viscount left the room without locking the door, you thought you could run away at that moment and that this was your chance. Even if your feet hurt from dancing the same steps for hours just moments ago, you forced yourself to move, so desperate to leave.

There was no one in the halls as you ran, careful not to cause any sound that would let servants or him notice your presence. And you were close… very close to the door to the outside.

Only to feel a shock in your core running through your whole body. It was like fire burning your skin inside out, licking your skin, leaving trails of fire that grew hotter and hotter. You fell down in the hallway, unable to move as waves of pain threatened to melt your body. You couldn't scream at all, barely a gasp.

The sigil on your stomach had reacted violently to your escape.

And the pain didn't stop, no matter how many tears fell from your eyes. No matter how much you wanted to escape from the pain, it kept you wide awake. The pain in your stomach was gruesome, while your veins felt like it was lit on fire. At one point, it did dull down, as if someone deemed that your punishment had been properly given… but you could not move, and he made sure of that. You covered your face and sobbed still feeling like every body part was burnt to a crisp.

Later, when the Viscount came back from a meeting and saw you on the floor he tutted at you… no anger in his eyes when he picked you up in a bridal carry. “My dear honey, you shouldn’t have done that. What if you had gotten hurt while running away?” He asked you with a smile, his grip on your leg painfully tight.

You received another punishment from the Viscount himself.

You watched him place a chain on your ankle, securing it to the bed. You flinched at his touch, whining when the cold metal touched your skin.

“I made sure to go lightly on you. But don't think it will be the same next time, dear,” he told you as he carried you to your bed, giving you pecks on your forehead while combing your hair as if to comfort you. “It will be even worse than this..”

Let me remind you that as long as you know that you belong to me, I will spoil you more than kings and emperors could ever do for their queens. But if you could not understand that, then we could only just fix it… and you already know what I mean by saying that.”

“Right, Love?”

“It will be your turn soon. Please get ready,” a servant spoke up. In public, they removed all their masks around their eyes. You had expected their eyes for a moment to be dead just as they were before, yet instead, you saw a liveliness that didn't belong to the person. “Please wait a moment, and we will finish up a few remaining touches,” the servant spoke in a cheerful voice, as other servants walked around with similar smiles.

You disliked how fake it was, but more than anything, you were scared that this would be what you would finally become if you even made the Viscount mad enough, pushing the thought that maybe you already were deep in your mind.

A long veil attached to your hair, the Viscount had a favor towards longer hair and told you to grow it if it was short. The dress was cleaned from any fold marks, wrinkles and small imperfections. 

A white bouquet held by another maid given to you.

Your hands took the white bouquet without listening to your fear and hesitation. Again, you wondered if you were broken, already a marionette that he sometimes called you.

Walking out of the bride's room, you stood in front of huge doors in the long hallway, your own eyes empty of any delight but hidden by the innocent white veil, sheer enough to see your face just a little. Your neck moved by itself when it heard the announcement of the bride, your chin being forced up as the doors opened. You could hear the clapping first, and as you started to walk down the aisle alone, you could see some nobles who once watched you be humiliated by your past fiancé and his girl. 

You didn't care about them anymore.

Your eyes moved to see in front of you, and you saw your parents, both smiling as you walked down the aisle, almost as if proud parents when in reality you knew it was a picture the Viscount wanted of something perfect.

Looking at the man again, watching you walk towards him with a satisfied smile on his lips, you could see the madness and obsession swirling in those eyes, knowing that you have been placed into a corner where all he must do is choke you even more.

Standing in front of him, you looked at him, the same sly smile on his lips as the day you first arrived at his mansion and fell into his trap. The marriage officiant continued to speak, yet most of his words you could barely hear as you were too deep in your thoughts. This moment, these last few seconds would be the last that belonged to you until it becomes official that you would be forever trapped and controlled by the man's obsession and delusions for you.

You heard the Viscount speak for a moment, bringing you out of your thoughts immediately. You had become too sensitive to his voice. You noticed the marriage officiant turn to you after hearing the answer of the Viscount and asking you the question, “Would you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Looking at the Viscount who stared at you lovingly yet at the same time knowingly, waiting to hear you say the words that will bind you to him forever. This breath would be the last that you breathe for yourself and not for him. He was a serpent, he had already bitten into your skin, letting poison seep into your veins. Any hope now would be too late. 

You closed your eyes, letting tears fall down your face.

“Yes… I do.”

[meiieiri]

water’s edge | concept dump

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ warnings: mean!gojo (but that’s not even the worst of it oh my god what monstrosity have i created), arranged marriage, illness, allusions to criminal activity that may include reckless homicide, physical battery and attempted murder. mentions of depression, cheating, physical and emotional abuse, trauma, adultery. fictional depiction of the japanese imperial family, etc.

LINK TO FULL FIC MASTERLIST HERE!

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who is the only son of the emperor and empress of Japan, the beloved and long-awaited child of his parents. As a child, he had been showered with endless praise and veneration as the one, true, legitimate heir to the chrysanthemum throne. The entire imperial household had expected the prince to inherit an unwavering sense of duty to the crown and to his people much like his fore-bearers, only to be severely disappointed when the prince turns out to be a pathological card shark with ambiguous morals, and a serial womanizer who has slept with countless women from aristocratic backgrounds during the height of his bachelor years.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who finally incurs his father’s wrath after a nasty bar brawl that leads to him getting unceremoniously arrested and is stripped of his title and properties as crown prince, favoring his half-brother, Prince Suguru Geto, who had been born of the emperor’s affair with one of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting. This incident has prompted his mother, the empress, to help in ratifying his public image by arranging Satoru to marry a commoner with an impeccable standing in Japanese society in a bid to re-portray Satoru as a responsible, married man. The empress, in turn, offers to grant you, Satoru’s future wife-to-be, anything your heart could ever desire.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who engages in a pantomime act of being a loving husband to you during a state banquet by showering you with endless praise in his speech addressed to all the world leaders in the Akasaka Palace’s reception hall. When he was asked to introduce you, his new wife, the honeyed words came so easily to him. “You see, the princess (Y/N) is no ordinary woman,” he chuckles into the microphone causing the guests to giggle at the sight of what looks to be a bashful newlywed.

“Other than being the first breath of fresh air our family has ever had the pleasure of knowing in so long, and the most active member in our family when it comes to supporting the many royal charities and foundations, she is…” he trails off. You dared to follow the wandering gaze of your husband, who seems to be searching for another pair of eyes in the room. His eyes eventually stop their search, softening at the sight of the one he loved. For a second, you think he is looking at you, and your heart naively skips a beat in your chest as if all these months of inattention and animosity were finally coming to an end.

“…My better half, the keeper of my own heart.”

Many of the ambassador’s wives who sat beside you nudged you in congratulations for being so blessed with such a devoted husband. You crane your head back to smile warmly at them for the kind words only to have ice coat your veins instantly when you see his Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, sitting about two seats behind you, staring directly at your husband with a wistful look in her eyes, exchanging words of love in a silent oath — one that is far more certain than the rising and the setting of the sun as each day passes with your husband hating you a tad bit more than yesterday, and one that is far more truthful than the wedding vows you shared.

Of course, writing this godforsaken death march-like speech was easy for Satoru, simply because these words of devotion and love were never intended for you anyway; this poetic spiel was written with another woman ensnaring his mind.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who sneaks out of bed during your wedding night, sparing one last cold glance at your sleeping form before he saunters out the imperial villa to meet his girlfriend in a nearby mountain resort, about half a mile away from the villa. His personal chauffeur had been sworn to secrecy, else, he would incur the wrath of the crown prince.

“I thought you couldn’t get away,” Himiko moans wantonly into his mouth as he roughly takes her from behind, the lewd wet sounds of their lovemaking echoing through the room. He had taken the liberty of secretly bringing Himiko along to your honeymoon, by booking the most expensive suite in the resort for her under another name.

“The bitch is too fucked out to even notice I’m gone— mmph—“ he throws his head back, releasing a pleasured groan when Himiko meets his sharp thrusts, grinding teasingly on his cock as she does so. He grips her hips tightly, readjusting his hips to pound into her from another angle, the muscles on his abs tightening as he gets lost in the feeling of her tight, luscious walls. “Sh-shit, ‘m-m gonna cum—“

“—Ah! S-Satoru,” she was close too, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the fat tip of his member roughly prods at her cervix.

He half-expected Himiko to be angry with him for engaging in intimate acts with you, but she simply acts like she didn’t hear him. And even if she was upset, why should he, of all people, apologize? She should have known that becoming his mistress entailed having to endure these kinds of things as these were simply Satoru’s marital duties, and by extension, his duty to the crown.

His high washes over him like a tidal wave crashing into the rock shore, grunting as he involuntarily thrusts as he releases inside her, Himiko collapsing onto the pillows as he does. “O-oh, haaa- agh,” his deep tenor moans into her long black hair as his seed paints her walls, holding her close to his form, their heartbeats racing a million miles an hour.

He pulls out his flaccid cock, plopping down next to her, pulling her small frame for her head to rest on his chest. “I just need to have father reinstate me as heir apparent and return all my estates, then,” he kisses her once, his lips moving in sync with her soft ones.

“…We’ll get rid of her.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who blatantly and publicly humiliates you by bringing along Himiko Zenin to a state visit to the imperial family’s counterpart in Monaco rather than you, his rightful wife. And when asked of your whereabouts, Satoru simply replies with a casual shrug, his hand squeezing Himiko’s smaller ones as she usurps the banquet thrown in your honor by the Monacan royal family while you watch the horrific scene unfold on your television screen, your heart shattering into a million pieces as Himiko and Satoru uncaringly waltz with one another in front of the watchful eyes of the entire world throughout the evening.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who crucifies you for your acts of sincere charity, believing you to be actively humiliating Himiko despite having no intentions whatsoever resembling his baseless accusation. “Did you honestly think your little publicity antics would go unpunished? I bet you were just itching for the attention, weren’t you?” he snarls at you the second you come back from a visit to one of the hospitals you had commissioned for the treatment of children with rare diseases, a compassionate act which had been heavily televised by national broadcasting stations and even international news agencies. “If you wish to compete with Himiko, wife, then, by all means. But I swear to you, I will do everything — everything I can — to make the entire world know just how much of an opportunistic whore you are—”

You gaze up at your husband with fear in your eyes. “…I was not competing with Himiko, can I not care for our people — your people? I’m sure they need someone to promote their interests when their own prince couldn’t be bothered to do so!” you retaliate but are quickly shot down when he throws his scotch glass at the wall, causing you to flinch when it shatters on impact.

“I will make sure this humiliation you dealt to Himiko will return to you tenfold, (Y/N),” he dangerously seethes, coming to the aid of his mistress. “Celebrate your victory all you want, wife, but make no mistake, this is far from over.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who indifferently scoffs when you crumble into a sobbing mess after yet another argument with him. “W-what can I do to make you not hate me so much? P-please tell me, Satoru.” The only response you receive is your husband dangerously moving closer to you, his eyes, dark with pure loathing. Instinctively, you step backward, only to be met by the cold wall of your shared bedroom. “S-Satoru—“

“—Here’s what you can do: do exactly as I say, without question,” he traps you between his arms, his breath hot on your skin, his lips dangerously close to yours, his voice dripping with the venom that could turn every silver thread in your heart into a hue that resembled charcoal black. “If I tell you to kiss me, you kiss me. If I tell you to get out, you get out. If I tell you to shut up, you sew your mouth shut or rip your tongue out, I really don’t give a damn. If I tell you to die…”

…

…

“…You drop dead.”

a/n: meh, just wrote this at the top of my head to get rid of this stupid writer’s block since hehe i have like eighteen drafts of jjk smut and drabbles in my tumblr folder rn help :’)

might turn this into a multi-chapter fic depending on how it is received. so lemme know your thoughts by reblogging, liking or commenting on this post!

[tododeku-or-bust]

You've probably said this before, but it's infuriating to see people talk about shit policy and just accept it. Like, if all the bad things are going to happen if you lose don't make you plan for that whats the point? "If we win we're fucked" you're not going to help us? You're not gonna help Black people or immigrants or trans people if there are laws targeting them? You're just going to wait for 4 years?

Pretty much. It reveals the weak, ineffective allyship and is so damaging for causes bc those kinds of people will accept anything and stand for nothing. How do you move forward in your cause when people are willing to accept absolutely nothing as long as its packaged in pretty platitudes? Useless, fr.

There was an entire civil war because southern congressmen and aristocrats were told "no, you can't keep your slaves"; that shit wasn't solved with a "well you need to accept the current President's in office now" 🤣 what I really wish people would understand, at least about racism in America, is that there's always a backlash. The presence of a Blue Person in office does not protect the average American of color from the wrath of racist white citizens who don't get their way.

I remember under Obama, it was "be on the lookout because white racists are mad he won and will kill you because they can and you're Black". Then under Trump it was "be on the lookout because white racists are happy he won and will kill you because they can and you're Black". The expectation that I'd die because of the whims of white people didn't change 😅 the actual meaning of "stay woke".

It's going to come down to community, regardless of the outcome of this election. It was always going to be us taking care of us. Us protecting us. That was a big part of the Black Panthers idea when they created what would eventually form WIC, as well as learning about laws and the right to bear arms. And I think that's something a lot of liberals, especially white liberals, don't understand- community. We can't afford to wait on some Christ-like figure to take office and "fix everything". Sure it's nice to have someone who listens- which is another conversation altogether- but we can't just depend on that for "things to be better".

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 29, vol. 17, 21 juillet 1895, Paris. 2. Grands cols lingerie. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(2.) Grands cols lingerie. — La mode dédaigne totalement ces cols en guipure style Louis XIII. Les voici remplacés par les grands cols Louis XIV en linon brodé qui empruntent à l’imprévu leurs plus hardis caprices et dessinent poétiquement le cou et les épaules. Cet harmonieux encadrement rend la tête si fraîche, si fine, si jolie que les grandes mondaines l’adaptent â leurs chemises de nuit. C’est la variété du goût aristocratique dans sa plus originale expression que les créations en ce genre de la maison Jeanne d’Arc. Les Parisiennes raffinées et les riches étrangères accueillent ces types inédits, d’une si exquise distinction, comme une inspiration de leur renom d’élégance. Les prix établis pour ces grands cols sont les suivants: 10fr.50, 12fr.50, 15fr.50, 20 francs, 25 francs et 30 francs. Le nouvel album créé par Mme Desbruères est mis à la disposition de toutes nos lectrices; il suffit d’en faire la demande. Ce catalogue donne tous les prix des corsets avec buse ou sans buse, lingerie, trousseaux, jupons de soie, ainsi que la manière de prendre soi-même les mesures. Il suffit d’écrire à la Maison Jeanne d’Arc, 265 rue Saint-Honoré, Paris.

(2.) Large lingerie collars. — Fashion totally disdains these Louis XIII style guipure collars. Here they are replaced by the large Louis XIV collars in embroidered lawn which borrow their boldest whims from the unexpected and poetically outline the neck and shoulders. This harmonious framing makes the head so fresh, so fine, so pretty that great socialites adapt it to their nightgowns. It is the variety of aristocratic taste in its most original expression that the creations of this kind from the house of Jeanne d’Arc. Refined Parisians and wealthy foreigners welcome these unique types, of such exquisite distinction, as an inspiration for their reputation for elegance. The prices established for these large passes are as follows: 10.50 francs, 12.50 francs, 15.50 francs, 20 francs, 25 francs and 30 francs. The new album created by Ms. Desbruères is made available to all our readers; you just need to request it. This catalog gives all the prices of corsets with or without a busk, lingerie, trousseaux, silk petticoats, as well as how to take your own measurements. Just write to Maison Jeanne d’Arc, 265 rue Saint-Honoré, Paris.

[dimigo-cromwell]

First time sharing a bed

Writing type: Prompt

Pairing: Diluc x GN!Reader

Tags: non :3

"Please do tell me if this makes you uncomfortable..."

The Dawn Winery had been a hive of activity for weeks, bustling with fervent workers meeting the high demand for wine, spurred by the celebratory whims of some aristocratic family. Diluc, to put it mildly, was exhausted. Playing the role of Justice Bringer by night only added to his weariness.

After enduring a week of chaos and facing off against Abyss Mages in the dark of night, he found himself standing at the threshold of his bed, with you opposite him, both preparing to succumb to sleep. The cool night air brushed against his skin, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

Too fatigued to care about sleeping separately, he simply craved someone to converse with tonight, and there was only one person fit for the task: you.

You two had known each other for years, each passing moment building towards this singular juncture.

You lay down first, pulling the covers up to your chest, your hands fidgeting with the fabric as your eyes met his tired gaze. Diluc took a deep breath before slipping under the covers, facing you.

"Is it okay if I..." His hand hesitated, inching closer to you. With a nod from you, his arm settled heavily on your stomach, tracing idle patterns on it, his other arm tucked beneath his pillow.

Turning to fully face him, you watched as his eyelids drooped, inching closer until his forehead rested against yours.

His warmth enveloped you, a comforting embrace that spoke of safety and trust, perhaps fuelled by the power of his vision.

"I'm relieved everything turned out well. Everyone was worried about you," you said softly.

"I know… I apologize for causing concern, but the Abyss simply refuses to give me a break. And with these incompetent knights, it's not getting any better—" He caught your unimpressed glare. "Well, some of them do work hard. I'll give them that."

The conversation flowed between you, fraught with troubles, concerns, and worries, the nervousness of sharing a bed forgotten in the intimacy of the moment. As minutes passed without words, a sudden yawn caught you off guard.

A gentle smile graced Diluc's lips, exhaustion finally catching up. "Sleep well, dear," he whispered softly before his body relaxed, his breaths slowing as he leaned into you. The rhythmic beat of his heart against his chest filled the tranquil room, illuminated by the gentle moonlight filtering through the window.

"Good night, Diluc," you murmured, letting sleep claim you, finally overtaking the remnants of excitement and nervousness. In the embrace of the night, both sleep and peace found their way to you.

[goodqueenaly]

If Elia wasn’t at harrenhal would Rhaegar crowning Lyanna have still been a scandal?

I think so, yes - a scandal different in kind, and perhaps to a limit extent different in degree as well, but a scandal nonetheless. While I do not at all want to undersell the extent to which Rhaegar passing over his own wife shocked and offended onlookers at Harrenhal - there is a reason Elia reportedly sat there “stiff-backed and trying to act as if nothing was wrong” in a probable attempt to minimize Rhaegar’s public humiliation of her - Rhaegar’s choice to snub his wife was only part of the Harrenhal tourney scandal. This is a point I made before (in a reblog from the late great Steven Attewell), but to reiterate, while the crowning of a queen of love and beauty is not necessarily and in all cases an expression of romantic sentiment, this act is not also completely free of such implications in every case either - especially when the chosen lady (or, rather, girl) is, by the standards of her (creepy, fetishizing) society, “part child, part woman … [a] ‘maid’ … [f]ertile but innocent, beloved of the singers”. For a man who was himself the son of a monarch infamous (at least in his early reign) for his seemingly omnivorous sexual appetite, offering the crown of queen and love and beauty to a beautiful, as yet unmarried (more on that in a moment) maiden, without any obvious sociopolitical justification for doing so, I think would have been seen as no less than the prince propositioning Lyanna in front of virtually the entire assembled nobility of Westeros - in other words, scandal enough on its own, without the added IOTL insult to Elia.

Moreover, because Lyanna was betrothed - and betrothed to the Lord of Storm’s End, no less - Rhaegar offering her the crown of the queen of love and beauty was a gross political insult, one immediately recognized by the Stark-Baratheon party present. Indeed, not for nothing does Yandel report that “Lady Lyanna's brothers seem[ed] so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her”, with “Brandon Stark … [having] to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister's honor”, Eddard being “calmer but no more pleased”, and Robert Baratheon “brood[ing] on the insult”, so much so that “his heart hardened toward the Prince of Dragonstone from that day forth”. Even if Rhaegar, and likely the vast majority of the attendees, probably knew nothing about the specific geopolitical goals of the Stark-Tully-Baratheon-Arryn power bloc, every Westerosi aristocrat could appreciate the standard expectations of alliance represented by diplomatic marriages - expectations threatened by the apparent attempt by the crown prince to seize and use the Stark maiden at his whim, and presumably similarly discard her at his leisure. Again, if I can quote myself, “Lyanna was just sexualized enough to be seriously considered a target of romantic attraction while also being just unavailable enough to make any such attraction from anyone not her betrothed (or, perhaps, one of her brothers or her father’s bannermen) truly scandalous”.

[ancientcharm]

The controversial young emperor Elagabalus

'The roses of Elagabalus' (detail) by Lawrence Alma-Tadema ,1888

Sextus Varius Avitus Bassianus was born in Rome in the year 203, the day and month of his birth are unknown. As emperor he had the name Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus but was better known as Elagabalus. Originary from Syria he was by hereditary right, the high priest of El-Gabal (God Sun) from which his name Elagabalus comes. El-Gabal was the tutelary god of the city of Emesa, in Syria. His grandfather and ancestors were also priests.

He became emperor of Rome on May 16, 218 at age 14, thanks to his maternal grandmother Julia Maesa, Caracalla's aunt, who after the assassination of the emperor organized a revolt against the usurper Macrinus.

He received the Salutatio imperatoria (imperial salute) only once, at the time of the assumption of imperial power. His reign was brief as his life, and his death more tragic than the previous assassinated emperors, not so much because of the way he died but because of what the murderers did with his body.

'The roses of Elagabalus' by Lawrence Alma-Tadema ,1888

In order to become high priest of El-Gabal, Elagabalus had himself circumcised.

Care must be taken not to take for granted certain stories that were clearly invented and exaggerated due to the hatred that this young man caused in Rome. He was so hated that Roman historians contemporary with Elagabalus call him "the Assyrian emperor", thus denying any relationship of Rome with him. Cassius Dion also refers to this emperor as "the false Antoninus."

One of the most implausible stories that have been written about him is that he killed people at banquets by drowning them with rose petals.

Also the Roman clichés when writing about a hated emperor, such as the palace being a brothel, that he himself was a prostitute, that he involved wild animals in orgies and other actions that were despicables for the Romans. The story of "he wanted to be castrated" may come from the fact that he had wanted to be circumcised, in fact he was the only Roman emperor to be circumcised, something the Romans considered inappropriate, to put it mildly.

The true scandals

Bust of Elagabalus. Musei Capitolini, Rome © José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro.

In 219 he married a young aristocratic woman named Giulia Cornelia Paula but in early 220 he divorced, claiming that she had "physical defects." However, the real reason for the divorce soon became known. Elagabalus, who was high priest could only marry a priestess. And thus began his first scandal when he take as his wife a Vestal Virgin Aquilia Severa.

Belonging to a family of priests of an oriental deity, it was probably not the whim of a megalomaniac teenager but rather he was convinced that, as Roman emperor, he had the duty to marry a Roman priestess.

But for the Romans a vestal virgin could not marry until she had completed 30 years of service to the goddess Vesta (the most ancient Roman goddess) and if she broke her vows of chastity she was punished with the death penalty. Elagabalus undoubtedly broke a sacred rule.

In 221, perhaps to calm everyone down, he divorced and married Annia Faustina, descendant to the beloved emperor Marcus Aurelius, but he soon divorced her to remarry former vestal virgin Aquilla. Historians account that Elagabalus claimed married the priestess because he wanted to have "divine children".

According to Cassius Dio, Elagabalus also had a love affair with "a blonde boy from Caria named Hierocles." Unlike other extravagant stories, such as people drowned in roses, this one does not implausible; It could be false but it could also be true.

In another attack on the sacred traditions of Rome, Elagabalus introduced the cult of El-Gabal as a state religion in the city of Rome and throughout the empire. Jupiter was the supreme state god, but the religious edicts of Elagabalus left the Roman religion with all its gods relegated to the background. The Roman gods were assigned a subordinate function to the Syrian god El-Gabal, this deity until then had only been worshiped in Emesa. The emperor ordered the sacred stone from Emesa to be brought to Rome.

During the summer solstice festival he placed the conical black meteorite that represents El-Gabal, in a chariot decorated with gold and jewels, which toured the city in parade.

A team of six horses carried the divinity, the enormous and immaculately white horses, with expensive gold harnesses and rich decorations. No one was holding the reins nor was anyone on board the chariot; The vehicle was escorted as if the god himself were the charioteer. Elagabalus walked backwards in front of the chariot, facing the god and holding the reins of the horses. He made the whole journey in this reverse manner, looking his god in the face. - Herodian.

As if all this were not enough to enrage the entire Roman society, Elagabalus made her mother participate in the Senate, an institution, more than a thousand years old, created by men exclusively for men. Another reason that explains certain accusations by Roman historians about Elagabalus.

Empress Julia Soaemias, mother of Elagabalus- 3nd century AD, Found in 1968 at the Monumental Nymphaeum of Septimius Severus. Photo: Dosseman

Julia Maesa, grandmother of Emperor, seeing how the Senate, the Praetorian Guard and the people stopped supporting him and his mother, decided that both should be replaced by her daughter, Julia Mamaea, and her other grandson, Alexander, 13 years old.

First she convinced Heliogabalus to name his cousin Caesar and heir and share the Consulate with him. He accepted but then seeing that the Praetorian Guard preferred his cousin, Elagabalus changed his decision.

Historians account that following he deprived his cousin of his titles, and revoked the consulship, circulated the news that Alexander was about to die; A mutiny broke out and the guard demanded to see Elagabalus and Alexander in the Praetorian camp.

On March 11, 222 Heliogabalus appeared there with his mother Julia Soemia and Alexander. Upon his arrival, the soldiers greeted Alexander as emperor. Elagabalus ordered the arrest and execution of every soldier who intervened in this revolt, but in response, the Praetorians attacked him and his mother.

So he tried to flee, and could have reached somewhere hidden in a chest, but he was discovered and killed at the age of 18. His mother, who embraced him closely, perished with him; They cut off their heads and his bodies, after having stripped them, first they dragged them throughout the city, and then the mother's body was left somewhere, while his was thrown into the river. — Cassius Dio

Hierocles, the charioteer and, according to Cassius Dio, also the lover, of Elagabalus, as well as several of his court, were executed that same day. His religious edicts were revoked, and El-Gabal returned to Emesa.

On March 13, 222, Alexander Severus ascended the throne. His grandmother, Julia Maesa, one of the most powerful women in Roman empire history died four years later.

After 13 years of reign Alexander was also assassinated, at the age of 26, although for very different reasons than his cousin Elagabalus: Alexander was assassinated just by the ambition of a group of soldiers and, upon the death of his successor, was deified by the Senate. He died without issue and was the last of the Severan dynasty.

Bust of Elagabalus. 220- 221. Musei Capitolini, Rome- © José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro

In the bust you can clearly see that Elagabalus grew his mustache and sideburns, so the bust itself gives the lie to the story that this emperor used to shave his entire body, and everything else.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Circus ghosts

<<<Prev(Sinister plot)

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Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid reader

Word count: 2000

Warnings: none

Sure princesses had to be guarded but you knew your every move was being watched. Who you talked to, where you went, you finally understood Buggy’s paranoia with having every word he uttered be recorded somewhere. You shook away the thought. It felt annoying to let him linger in your mind. After all the promises he had made, his actions only proved to be otherwise.

You weren’t his most valuable treasure anymore, knowing him it was well within his character to have had found something else that was more priceless, to let his mind wander elsewhere. Another more pestering thought propped up, after the four months that had passed now, he could be filling up his nights with other women.

They would be keeping him warm at night, holding him close like you had done once. You shook away the thought. With how difficult it was to even sneak away for a few minutes, you were never going to run into him now. So it was pointless, he was in the past, a treacherous past that wouldn’t let you forget how good it felt, how free he made your life to seem.

Helge was persistent now, trying every opportunity to get you to court him, trick you into it even. That was the mercourt. Pirates lived by a code, they had an honour amongst themselves. As much as they squandered and raided, there was a line they wouldn’t cross if they had sworn their allegiance.

But here, there was no code, there was no loyalty. It was barbaric. Nothing was wrong, the morality used to govern would change based on who sat on the throne and if no one liked you, you could be eliminated out of the boredom of the aristocrats that held their positions within the court. It was all based on the whims and fansies of the one who held the most power.

As much as the people believed you to be their powerful liberator, returned from the clutches of death. You were only a decoy. Theodora Slyvester was the one that had the mercourt wrapped around her finger. No one spoke of your parents, they were well forgotten.

The citizens were made to believe they had died in a ship wreck when they tried to flee the riot, but no one knew the truth behind the games that had occured in private. It was only you who was put of on a ship by some kind soul whose loyalty was your family line, they hid you amidst the cargo and sent away before the coup had begun.

Your parents portraits still hung in the hall of legacy that you took time to often to gaze at. They were just pictures now, nothing more. Your heart didnt stir, your mind couldn't remember how they sounded. All you could see was that you had your mother’s eyes and your father’s tail pattern. She had been a chief advisor but nothing else was written about her while your father had been a warrior. Your mother's history too shrouded in mystery.

With no other brothers or sisters, you were their only child, the only one in whose hands lied the fate of this family line. The pressure that settled on your shoulders was immense, it wasn’t just a crew you had to worry about it was a future you were unsure about. Did you have the right to reject all this? Would it ruin everything the people in these portrait had built? Your escape plans were futile and your heart was beginning to settle in this new reality.

You moved away from the portraits as you closed the book you were held about the history behind Makara's legacies when it began to bore you. You knew what privilege you held but the thirst after power and duty was never in your blood, so it felt like a trap chasing after ghosts to secure a life that didn't make you happy.

With the day of falling stars soon approaching, you felt stuck. You took action and executed plans, never took the time to scheme and strategize. Your fingers itching in impulse to seek the thrills of a fight, to move to the next step or eradicate all your enemies without any sweet talk. That's why you and Buggy worked well as a team. He made the plans, you brought it to life. You stopped yourself before you could reminisce him further.

You laid your head on the table to then place your hands over it. You laid awake at night, trying your best to fit all the moving pieces together, to try and create a way for yourself, to get what you want.

What did you want?

You were being indecisive again, your curse. You were trying to work with what you had and yet you weren’t satisfied with any of the outcomes. This was new. You were always satisfied on the pirate ship, never wanted more, day life was a bliss even with its mundaneness, your mind never longed for anything else.

Again, with the ship and the thought of Buggy's eyes. You groaned and buried the thought away as you sat up again.

Now, nothing made you happy. No one could make you laugh. Every day was the same as the one before that you lost track of time, months had felt like years. You pulled out a blank paper, your attempts at writing Buggy a letter was always useless cause you didn’t know what to say. Your pen hovering over the white sheet before you put it away, again.

Not that pirates read letters anyway.

You brought the pen back over the paper when you had an idea. Maybe you could draw him a map with a big ‘X’ pointing to where you were.

But you crumpled the sheet of paper instead and threw it to the side.

Would he still come?

This stupid question had never left you alone, constantly appearing in your mind as though you knew the answer.

You heard familiar footsteps behind you and it made you feel a bit better. “Theodora is ambitious as ever.”, Hassan spoke.

“What is she up to now?”, you got up to greet him.

He took care of the archives and with all the time you spent here, you were bound to become friends with him. He was three centuries old, only one of the few alive from him legacy line of the Banyans. His lineage were the first to inhabit Makara and though he still had a few years left in him yet. He helped you learn the intricacies between the four families that controlled the island and it’s people.

The Slyvesters, the Nerroceans, the Barracudons and the Banyans. Four tribes, four lineages that established the island three hundred years ago.

“She is not going to rest till you accept her son.”, He chuckled as he placed an invitation in front of you.

“Tell me there’s a way to get out of this.”, you frowned to which he shook his head.

“It’s tradition. A Slyvester always married a Nerrocean, together they would become the ruling pair.”, he stated as though it was obvious but that was where you never understood your family’s story.

“But my mother, she wasn’t from the Slyvester family.”, you said to which he hummed as a smile flitted across his lips.

“The most notorious pair I had ever seen. The first to break tradition too.”, he raised his brows.

You pushed away the book as your scuttled closer intrigued by his stories, he always had information that were at times left undocumented.

“Tell me more.”, you said eagerly which made him laugh.

“Your mother, I believe was a sea captain once, caught in a storm when your father saved her from a near shipwreck. That was how they first met.”, Hassan looked away lost in thought. Being alive for centuries had made him a storehouse of information but struggled with recollection.

“Your father, he was the only that could…”, he grew frustrated unable to remember what it was that he had wanted to share.

“Never mind all that, now about the ball.”, Hassan switched over to the more important matter.

"Not fair, you never finish any of the stories you begin to tell me.", you cribbed but he hadn't heard it.

“You have to go.”, he knocked his fist on the table as he passed you the envelope. You smiled as you took up the invitation.

“For what? It is going to be tedious, the music will be boring and the conversation extremely dull. Instead I could just stay here.”, you turned to him to put the invitation away when he didn’t take it from you.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re as old as me.”, he narrowed his eyes at you, his spectacles sliding down his button nose.

“Maybe I am.”, you indulged his joke before he clicked his tongue.

“I need you to come back with all the new gossip. My legs aren't what they used to be, if I was as young as you, I would have been the life of that party.”, he chuckled.

“How else am I supposed to keep up with everything that happens here?”, he looked at you making his eyes look bigger just so he could convince you and gain your favour.

You conceded. “Fine, I’ll go.”, you picked up the invite again.

It was to celebrate Helge’s birthday, you heaved a sigh, you knew what that meant for you. He was going to make it the most glamorous event all in the hopes of winning you over.

-

You wore a lot more of silk than lace it made you feel at home, you wore your family crest since you were the only Nerrocean alive, there was no one else who could represent your house. The legacy of a thousand generations rested in your hands and now with no one to compete with Helge for the seat next to your throne. It was pretty much set in the eyes of the court and the people. A story designed by fate itself, that when a Slyvester yearned for love, the only Nerrocean was found.

Silver was the colour that Helge and his mother wore often to represent the colour of their family. Behind you was a dress sent for you to wear. Black velvet with silver fabric creating a sultry bodice, you held it up against you.

It made you look like an eel, ready to sting. Silver was never your colour and with every opportunity you got, you used it to never comply to the rules Theodora wanted to enforce on you. The only fun you had these days was from behaving the exact opposite she wanted you to.

So instead you chose to wear a scarlet silk dress. Adorning yourself with gold and pearls, you felt regal when you caught sight of your refeltion.

You were to be Queen and with how the future felt like it was set in stone, it would be for the better if you accepted it for what it was. That whether you liked it or not, this was your life by birth right. To uphold the heritage of your parents, that was the least you could do.

As you fixed your earrings, you composed yourself. Maybe it was time to change tradition just like your parents had done, to step into the spotlight having shied away from it for so long, you could ascend the throne on your own.

And even if you did choose to marry, it would be for the sake of duty rather than love. Maintaining your position here was just like when you hid in plain sight during your espionages. Now all you had to do was stay longer and uses the information you collected for your own benefit.

But when you retouched the rouge on your lips, an inevitable truth set in and you paused. Your love would always and only be reserved for one pirate captain, one that wasn't yours anymore.

You were escorted to the ballroom, the doors swung open and you felt a grin creep across your face. Everyone in attendance were in silver clothing, except for you. The murmurs began to spread, a few gasped but this had been the most thrilling so far. You held your chin up as you descended the stairs towards the main floor, at the base, stood Helge with disappointment etched into his face. This night was getting better already.

But he held out his hand for you and you took it.

“I take it the gown didn’t suit your style.”, he looked at you, his frown still evident.

“You don’t know me well enough to know what I like.”, you spoke to him while you smiled to the people around you as they greeted you.

“Is that a challenge?”, he asked, when you looked at him he had a smirk on his face with a raised eyebrow.

“You can take it as you like it.”, you said knowing well that all his surprises so far had been underwhelming.

You and him approached the center seat that had been set apart for you. You sat down while Helge still stood looking towards the gathering.

“It has filled my soul with joy to see you all gathered here for my celebration. But before we get started with the dancing and the festivities. I have a surprise for my beloved future queen, Céane Nerrocen.”, Helge turned to you as you displayed a strained smile, not sure where this was going to go.

My Queen.

It was jarring to hear it from Helge's lips when you had already heard it from the one you loved.

This surprise was another one of Helge's antics, it was getting tiresome. He clapped his hands together as the lights dimmed down, rushing back to his seat next to you, he leaned closer.

“I thought you could do with some entertainment and I’m sure this would be more suitable to your liking.”, he grinned turning towards the dance floors while you rolled your eyes.

His form of entertainment was listening to an orchestra that had trained whales to be their chorus members. All his choices lacked a certain magic you craved.

But when the music began to play, you heart stopped. The golden light was replaced with a pinkish red hue that made you feel like you had entered the tunnel of love back at the circus.

And then you watched the performers enter, jugglers, flame throwers, contortionists and gymnasts. All of it, you couldn’t help but move to the edge of your seat. Their flashy and colorful costume making you feel alive. For once Helge had finally succeeded to find something you liked.

But when the performers spread away into the crowd, there he stood. With his long coat, red shirt tucked into black pants. His blue hair contained under his striped bandana, his stance so self assured and confident, his smile brilliant as ever. He looked put together, his make up applied with prisicion, not to induce fear but to dazzle. As you gazed at his face, one thing was certain there was no sign of the impact of your absence in his demeanor.

You realized you had forgotten to breathe, your heart stuck in your throat making you speechless.

Buggy’s sparkling eyes however, were only on you, taking in your every reaction as though he was lying in wait to exact his revenge.

“Hello, fishtail.”, he put his hands into his pockets as the music raged around you. Helge and the guests were too focused on the theatrics that no one spotted the absolute way your face had paled. Only Buggy did because his smile vanished, his eyes could never hide from you that it let all the pain he harbored seep through, to long for you from across the room.

Hassan was going to love this twist, you thought.

[tallestsilver]

50. “It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.”

Okay, I don't know what it's not posting with the *whoops* 5 pages, but I will post it.

EDIT: I am thwarted by tumblr. Have these links: AO3

FFN

To infer that I am a haunted man is an understatement. I have a personality apt for obsession. To throw myself entirely into my passions with reckless disregard to my surroundings. At times such as these, my attention is consumed by, more often than not, composing. I may go days without moving from my post, neither sleeping nor eating; nothing of this earthly realm can deter me when I focus on the divinity of music.

That is, of course, until one Mademoiselle Christine Daae haphazardly entered my domain.

Nothing so pure with child-like whimsy and naivety has shaken me to my core as resolutely as one Mlle. Daae.

Initially, I could sweep her from my thoughts. She is a young woman with many prospects. No doubt, could easily find a patron that lurks in the corners of the ballet corps. Many other young women and girls have succumbed through desperation to those demanding aristocrats with too much time and money to spare, and plenty of disregard for the fairer sex.

Convincing myself it was just my carnal base desires leaching out from the pits of my own desperation could only go so far. Although the thought of hand to hand, flesh to flesh was undeniably enticing, it was the thought of domesticity with Mlle. Daae that plagued my every thought: how comforting the warm embrace of her arms must be. A petite sigh of boredom, deciding on what book to read. Slight quibbles on what to eat for the evening supper. Her jubilant enthusiasm for the next aria I undoubtedly would encourage her to sing.

Above all, the care and ritual that she would engage in for her own beauty. How rapturous it was, to gaze upon her as she gazed upon herself at her vanity. Vanity - the very word loathsome to me, suggesting as though men did not participate in gazing at women in the very same regard as a mirror.

These quick glances I so abashedly stole while she sat preening, unbeknownst to my very presence, were not lecherous albeit voyeuristic. No, the careful application of rouge upon her cheeks and lips entranced me. Fur-soft puffs laced with powder enhance her brilliance. Waxed perfume enticing all the senses upon her wrist and decolletage. And sin against sins, the way her bristled brush caressed through her golden tresses. That, truly, was my undoing.

The carefully laid witchcraft of feminine makeup was inspiring to me, for it could potentially do wonders for even the most macabre of faces into looking somewhat respectable. I had dabbled in the venture myself, using theatre techniques to adhere attributes to myself that were so sorely lacking.

But the spell Christine cast upon me while brushing her hair was my undoing. Alas! To be the silken ribbon tied behind her graceful neck to keep the mass of riotous curls at bay so she could study her scripts, movements, chords... To run my spindly claws through her hair...

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. I wanted nothing more than that domesticity, accumulating to be able to assist her in her womanly needs. To fetch the shade she needed for her next scene or to comb out the tangles of the divine. I wanted, nay, needed to be a house husband to her. Fawning over her every whim, cooking, cleaning, making sure my Nordic Goddess could never want. And then, hope upon hope, to stroll in a park on a Sunday.

After exposing myself as the fraudulent Ange de la Musique, we did settle into a somewhat harmonious existence. Not exactly to my fantasies, but surely we held each other in some regard.

Maddening silence was often my punishment if I did anything she deemed untoward. Granted, my violent outbursts were getting more and more frequent as she gained more notoriety, attracting the attention of other men. She was not mine, not truly, but I could see fit she was not theirs, either.

I found myself in one of those sullen moods of hers. Dark circles plagued my Angel's under eyes. She no longer cared for her rouge, perfumes, or trinkets. She was no longer amused by my antics of sleight of hand, stories, or even songs.

Christine slumped into a morbidity that I knew only too well. True, her boy did indeed leave for the Northern Pole, and we're slowly acclimating ourselves to a potential future, whatever that may be, but the disdain in her gaze strikes me as sharply as a knife. No, perhaps not disdain that she feels for me; resignation may be the proper term for the hollow look in her eyes.

I never considered myself a timid creature, but the thought of her unhappiness sends me spiraling in isolation, to shun myself from her presence.

It was in this meekness, that I carefully approached the creature of all my desires, as she stared numbly at her vanity.

"Good evening, Erik," she stated automatically, not bothering to turn to face me. My eyes gleamed yellow in the reflection. If she wanted to speak to me thusly, I would acquiesce and respond in kind.

"Good evening, Christine." My voice was low, not demanding, but certainly not The Voice. I had refrained from using The Voice on her in many months after she berated me that she did not like losing her faculties as such.

"Around me," was the unspoken phrase that she had not explicitly stated, but the implication was thus.

No matter, I did not want her to be hypnotized to tolerate me. This 'case of the morbs', my dearest had, was better than utter disdain or calmness against her will. My desires were simple, to enjoy each others' company, for a smiling bride awaiting her gruesome husband and to welcome me with kindness.

Reason dictated that I repair the contemptuous relationship we found ourselves in. But women are fickle creatures and any means of being contrite seemed to annoy her. Could I not read the emotions of other creatures well enough? Are humans not but animals with longings to be loved as well as any?

In my coveted ideal of domesticity, I found myself liking Christine to be a feral feline that one should be cautious to approach, lest she hiss and strike you with an open paw. But perhaps in providing for her needs, she might allow a gentle pet.

I stood behind her, my hands wringing, uncertain of how to broach the question that had plagued my mind.

She sighed heavily, her eyes closing in - annoyance? Trepidation? - before asking, "what is it, Erik?"

I nearly bristled at the directness of her question, but Christine had mentioned it is easier to get what you want with honey rather than brute force - whatever that is meant, I took a cautious step toward her.

The precious girl did not run away.

"Erik wanted to know-" I froze as her mouth deepened into a frown at my slip. She admonished me frequently for not speaking in the first person. "I wanted to know-" I quickly corrected, "if you require some assistance with brushing your hair?"

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at me through the mirror of her vanity quizzically. I took another step forward, rubbing my wrists in uncertainty. She once mentioned she liked my cuffs a little shorter, exposing my wrists, and I adjusted my entire wardrobe accordingly, but instances like this made me feel exposed all over.

"What?" Her hands automatically ran over the ends of her hair, indeed, finding a mass of tangles and knots. She looked down in an all-too familiar expression for me: shame at her appearance.

My hands dropped to my side, my body rigid in fear, that I caused the anguish that shadowed her beloved features. "What I mean to say- not that you require it- I thought it would- no, no you mustn't-" My thoughts were a jumbled mess as did my words, usually so mastercrafted, fell so flat into nonsense.

As I rambled, Christine turned in her seat, witnessing my awkwardness. She toyed with a stray lock of hair, plucking at some split ends, her usual proper posture hunched and withdrawn. She was quiet as I hurriedly decided to dismiss myself and wallow in my awkward misery into my own room, when her voice called in a meek, considering way, "all right."

"I shall see myself out because you certainly do not wish for me to-" I snapped to attention and whirled back around, "-all right?"

She nodded and retrieved her hair brush, silently reaching it toward me.

My mouth gaped open and shut like a gasping fish before moving toward her once again.

"All right," I responded in kind.

Reaching for her brush, our fingers touched, ever so slightly, and I held the gasp that threatened to escape my throat. I was touch-starved, this is true, but the demure sensation was a relief to one more step toward normalcy. I looked to her to see if she was offended that my skeletal hand should touch her radiance, but no screams were heard. She simply nodded and turned back to face the mirror as I stumbled to stand behind her. Heat blossomed across my masked face, my ears betraying my blush that she would allow me to touch her.

My hands trembled, unsure where to begin, unwilling to hurt the angel in front of me. This was a foolish endeavor, I know nothing about caring for long hair, particularly the mass of curls before me. I pressed the brush to bundle of tangles at the nape of her neck and tried to pull down. The bristles stopped dead in their tracks, but Christine's head went down with the motion with a gasp, "ow!"

I froze in terror, all feeling draining from my person. I had wounded my Christine. I hurt her unintentionally once again. "Apologies, my-m," I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying out loud, "My Christine." I wanted to run, to flee, to have her never look upon me again and to give up this silly dream. But I also wanted to persevere, to be of use to her, to see that smile once again.

Christine sensed my hesitancy, and with the patience of a saint, she mimed how to start in the mirror. "From the bottom," she said quietly, just above a whisper. "Work your way up to the top. That will help with the tangles. I have not felt like myself, I can do it-" she reached for the brush and I snatched it away from her grasp.

"No!" I barked, too loud. She winced from the loud exclamation, but the poor dear did not run in terror. I cleared my throat and inhaled deeply to settle my nerves, "No," I stated more gently, but firmly. "Eri-I wish to do this for you." I looked at her earnestly. "Please."

She looked warily at me and I inwardly chided myself. My emotional outbursts were more and more infrequent, but they still bubbled to the surface now and again. She slowly nodded and repositioned herself in front of the mirror.

Cautiously, slowly, I started brushing her hair out. Her curls separated and poofed before me. I gripped a few locks and ran the brush through it, marveling how it shimmered in the candlelight. The tangles persisted, but as did this magnificent angel, nary a peep out of her lips. I moved through delicately, sections unraveling themselves and it became easier and easier to maneuver.

I restrained myself from burying my face in sunshine made tangible, to inhale her sweet perfume, but I shall admit it was a struggle. I did not want to cross the boundary of this tentative truce.

As I managed to make it all the way to the top of her scalp, the brush gliding through the rest of her tresses easily, Christine gave the sweetest feminine sigh and leaned back, against my frame. While I continued with my ministrations, my mind roiled in delight and fear. How do I navigate a situation like this? This was suddenly more intimate than I was prepared for and a quick excuse to leave became very appealing. I need to sleep? She would never believe that. Compose? Make some tea?

"I feel," her voice interrupted my frantic thoughts once again, "that if I were a cat," she paused, as if carefully examining her next words, "I might purr." She smiled - oh! How that angel blessed me with her smile- and looked at me once again.

Dumbfounded and skittish, I could only nod. The two of us fools, navigating dynamic we were naive to explore. I did not want to cease the brushing, but as her hair no longer needed attention, I was at a loss for what to do.

"Thank you, Erik." She reached back and separated the fluffy mane into three segments and deftly plaited her hair into a neat braid.

I took a step back from her, holding my hands, "You're welcome, Christine."

Silence enveloped us once again and I took that as a signal to leave.

"Will you tell me another story? It has been quite a long time since you read to me or told me of your travels."

She stood and offered her hand to me. Tentatively, I embraced it.

"Yes."

[sharkscene]

Full Moon was a great episode but I'm bummed that so many people are taking sides, even though I'm not surprised. The original wound in Blitz and Stolas' relationship was out of their hands - they met because Stolas' aristocratic, uncaring, asshole father hired Blitz's time from his uncaring, scheming father.

To little Stolas, who was kept away from the nitty gritty "buying a person" discussion, this funny kid just showed up and played with him for an afternoon on his birthday. He didn't even ask for it, he just expressed affection for him, and the playdate happened.

To Blitz, a child with a job, Stolas is some reality warping entity, so blessed that he can dispense life changing resources as long as he's kept comfortable and happy. He and Stolas did happen to get along, but even if Blitz had hated Stolas or thought he was too lame to play with, he would've still had to go along with the "playdate". He was aware that Stolas' whims were noted and enforced, Stolas wasn't.

I get why Stolas is hurt that Blitz "thinks so little" of him, but its not as personal as he thinks it is.

Honestly, I've been waiting for a Stolitz moment like this, a breaking point, since the actual series started & I realised Stolas wasn't antagonistic. The diseased dynamic bestowed upon them by their class positions & their fucked up dads is not going to be easy to disrupt, of course it's going to hurt. It's good!

[memecucker]

remember when Louis XVIII gained the French throne after the defeat of Napoleon and the new legislative body was the chamber of deputies which was stacked with ultra-royalist aristocrats who passed laws hyper-reactionary laws and also participated in massacres and killings of people suspected to have ties to the Republic or Bonaparte or Protestantism and King Louis was like oh god these people are actually too insane and the ultra-royalists were like we love the king more than the king does also we want to kill everyone in France so Louis XVIII with the advice and assistance of Coalition figures that didnt want to provoke a new revolution dissolved the Chamber using his absolutist powers so as to replace the members with more moderate constitutional royalists that get elected and suppress the ultra-royalists who were also the only people in France that wanted the King to have the ability to dissolve the legislature at whim

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 37: CHÉVALIER (2022)

1. The Introduction

Well, hello there, Citizens! I’m back and I hope you missed me! Sorry for the multiple delays and all, but luckily I’m back at it now!!!

Okay, so this movie has been on my radar ever since it got announced. A story featuring a real Black man who lived during Frev? Sign me up! This has excellent potential and also, to my knowledge, at least a partially Black crew so we get more representation of marginalized groups in crews and on the screen!

At least, those were my thoughts before I actually watched the movie, but we’ll get to whether it was a good media piece later.

I found the movie on Russian language streaming websites, but it’s available on Amazon Prime and Disney Plus for those who would like to watch the original English version.

This review is dedicated to @idieonthishill , @vivelareine (who has a review that unpacks the movie from a historical pov and is welcome to add to the review 😊), @theravenclawrevolutionary , @sansculottides , @citizentaleo , @saintjustitude , @avergehistoryenjoyer , @lanterne and @jenxiez .

Okay, let the Jacobin Fiction Convention reopen!

2. The Summary

The movie tells a story of a real man, Joseph Bologne aka Chévalier de Saint-Georges. Recognized son of a white French nobleman and an enslaved black woman, Bologne must navigate the cutthroat world of the Parisian high society, dealing with racism and trying to reconcile his “white” upbringing with his African roots.

Sounds interesting, but let’s see how the premise was handled.

3. The Story

The Introduction scene - a musical duel between Mozart and Bologne, was actually quite good in my opinion. So were the other beginning scenes of kid Bologne growing up in France as an aristocrat and being bullied by his white peers, plus his father telling him not to let society break him.

These scenes establish quite well that Bologne has to carve out a place for himself among French nobility and make a lot of effort to get even a hint of acceptance. Sounds like a nice setup, right? Well, unfortunately at times Bologne in the movie doesn’t seem to have much agency at all.

For example, his title is granted to him by Marie-Antoinette basically on a whim, handed to him on a silver platter because the queen was impressed by his fencing skills, which in my opinion isn’t enough to show a character who has to work hard to be accepted. I think it would’ve been better if Bologne had at least several impressive fencing performances to prove himself and show more of his skills.

On the flip side, there are characters who have a bit too much agency. For example, in the story it’s Marie Antoinette who is calling all the shots and giving all the orders in France, even though Louis is alive and well. It’s definitely jarring to see how people say “by the order of the queen” when the king should be the one mentioned instead.

I didn’t care much for the love triangle storyline, but it’s my own personal preference and also the fact that it, like many parts of the story, isn’t all that nuanced. So yeah, very bland and boring.

Yes, Citizens, unfortunately nuance has officially left the chat, especially when it comes to the main character. See, at first Bologne doesn’t give a shit about poverty and famine plaguing France. He is enjoying his cushy life and his friendship with the queen of France instead. However, you know what makes him join the Jacobins? A fucking PERSONAL FALLING OUT WITH THE QUEEN. Not promises of abolishing slavery or granting rights to black people, not his own ideals… Just fucking pettiness!

It would have been much better if he didn’t have a falling out with Marie Antoinette and signed up for fighting with the Republicans because he genuinely wanted to do what was right, not due to personal beef. Especially since that was why he joined Frev in reality – the real Bologne made a choice to do the right thing simply because it seemed to be the right thing to him. Not out of petty desire to get back at the queen.

Also, the conflict between Bologne and his mother about how he is acting “too white”… eeeehh. To me it felt very anachronistic but maybe I’m wrong and there is more nuance missing because EVERYONE at court had to carry themselves in a certain way to make it. If you couldn’t do it, you were socially FUCKED. Besides, Nanon (the mother) and her friends crack really mean jokes about Bologne being “too white”, which is… well, an INTERESTING way to endear him to his mother’s culture…

The movie is juggling admittedly anachronistic theme about black culture, anti-slavery message, court drama and love triangles… and the juggling is done quite sloppily too, I’m afraid.

Also, just to illustrate how inaccurate this movie is, the events of 1789 are shown happening in 1776 for some reason, which shows just how much the creators didn’t give a shit about research.

Moving on.

4. The Characters

I really didn’t care for Bologne to be honest. He shows selfishness and pettiness, doesn’t have enough agency in the story and is also very inconsistent. After falling out with Marie Antoinette, he claims he defended her, which… he didn’t! At least it’s not shown in the movie! What the fuck happened to “show, don’t tell”?! Also, his incredible talents aren’t really shown in the way they could’ve been, more on that in the soundtrack section. A missed opportunity, really.

Nanon, Bologne’s mother, is a real embodiment of the themes of slavery and trauma present in the the movie. She merely exists to push him to embrace his African heritage and to remind him that he will never be truly accepted by other nobles. I honestly wish there was more to her character, because she ends up being little more than a walking theme embodiment.

Marie Antoinette here is a capricious, fair weather friend. She CLAIMS to support Bologne, but does it in indirect ways out of fear that nobles wouldn’t appreciate her openly backing a black man. Even though she is an absolute monarch so she can afford to show her support more openly. Actions speak louder than words, and she is clearly not a true ally of Bologne.

Marie Joséphe, Bologne’s love interest, is a woman trapped in a miserable marriage and yearning to act in Bologne’s operas. While I do sympathize with her, I believe that there really isn’t much depth to her either. We just don’t learn much about her. This is becoming a common theme…

Also, just as a side note while we’re talking about characters, many white characters in the movie are shown as mere flat caricatures. I can understand why, but, again, this doesn’t show nuance as in reality, while Bologne definitely had to deal with racism, he was not only accepted, but adored as a celebrity, but we don’t see that reflected in the attitudes of other people towards him. Because apparently the brains of the spectators will implode when they see nuance in a modern movie, it seems.

5. The Setting

Personally I wasn’t that impressed by the costumes or the settings. I’ve seen much better ones. Nothing bad, but nothing outstanding either.

6. The Soundtrack

Where the fuck is actual music from that time period?! Where is music by Bologne himself?! It’s a fucking missed opportunity and I don’t know what prevented the creators from including the music written by the MAIN DAMN CHARACTER into a biopic about him. A shame that they missed yet another opportunity.

7. The Conclusion

Honestly… I can’t say much when it comes to what this movie is fucking about. The story is bland, lacks nuance, doesn’t follow basic historical facts and is pulled in a million directions.

For a movie about an obscure figure, it doesn’t show much of the things Bologne was known for and at times even strips him of agency. We need to have better POC representation, because this is just not it.

The movie is mediocre, bland and forgettable. Don’t waste your time on it.

With that, I declare today’s meeting of the Jacobin Fiction Convention to be over. Thank you for your patience and support during this hiatus of mine.

Stay tuned and stay safe!

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel

[lulu-recs]

never have I ever written a love letter by wannnabesuper

during a drinking game, remus lets slip that he's written a love letter. sirius (and an increasingly large group of friends) won't rest until they get to the bottom of this!

confessional spaces by thatfilmgraduate

sirius black is trapped in an enclosed space with his best friend and fellow marauder, remus lupin, and some interesting truths come to light.

or: sirius black asks a lot of questions and remus lupin is a moody fucker.

the light that blinds my eyes by aryastark_valarmorghulis

sirius is in love. remus is too, he just doesn't know it yet.

in which sirius is demi and pines a lot, remus is oblivious, and they should move together as soon as possible.

possibly a date by anonymous

basically sirius asks remus to dinner, but remus doesn't realize it's a date.

it's me or the dog by ruarcher (coriesocks)

sirius didn’t realise how much he relied upon his best friend (and took him for granted) until he was replaced. with a dog.

come in from the cold by goodboylupin (somebetterwords)

the first Hogsmeade weekend of sixth year. alternatively: in which sirius frets and works to keep remus warm, james argues it’s not that cold, remus wishes the cold brought something more, and peter just wishes everyone would get their heads out of their asses.

solntse by lumosinlove

sirius, a young russian billionaire hires remus, who is working part time as a call boy to make ends meet. things happen, feelings occur.

that’s the art of getting by by sarewolf ♡

“what do you want me to do?” remus says, tiredly. all he wants is to curl up on his bed. smoke a pack of cigarettes. get drunk. he can’t stop looking at harry. “remus...” dumbledore is gentle. remus hates when he has that tone. hates that he knows it will hurt. “there is no one else left.” a bitter laugh escapes him. “so you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

lonely dancers by anonymous

remus didn't want to go out in the first place, and now lily's gone and his crush is kissing someone else. Nothing can save this from being the worst nightout ever. except maybe another person, who's also by himself... coincidentally

wading in waist-high water by colgatebluemintygel ♡

remus is a phd student and hobbyist baker who finds himself adrift following his father’s death. on a whim, he enters the great british bake off and is swept up in a flurry of curdled custard, shrunken souffle, and under-proved dough. remus expects to be challenged and to embarrass himself on public television. what he doesn’t account for are the friendships he develops with the other contestants and the deep connection he forms with his teenage crush, sirius black: charming ex-boy band member and bake off presenter.

or

sirius groans, dropping his head back into his hands. “it’s the dough,” he mumbles into the skin of his palms. “it’s the kneading. it’s his hands. they’re obscene.” lily laughs. “they are a bit, aren’t they?”

customers only by orphan_account ♡

"dragging her eyes back to sirius, the hostess pointed a perfectly manicured nail to the sign on the podium that read: restroom for customers only." a charming stranger saves sirius black from a sticky situation when little harry's on the verge of wetting himself.

just like the movies by venusjewels

standing off to the side of the red carpet, sirius wasn’t nervous at all. he had a flask of vodka and blind confidence, what more did he need?

sirius is a reluctant red carpet interviewer for the 2023 awards season.

remus is a charming movie star that just so happens to attend a lot of awards shows.

the best by far is you by orphan_account

padfoot and moony meet over mutual follows on tumblr. remus, the blind student, hires sirius, the fallen aristocrat, to be a reader for his classes. they fall in love in separate ways, and fall apart. then fall together. their love is almost as ridiculous as they are.

my jokes are my armour, my kindness is my sword by littleoldrachel ♡

“my mum died last year,” sirius says at last, perhaps more bluntly than he intended – perhaps not given the defiant set of his chin. “and we don’t have a gravestone yet, till the ground settles or whatever, so I want something I can put there to represent her and how toxic she was.” remus blinks. whatever he had expected sirius to say, it hadn’t been that. he had inferred that he and regulus had a complicated relationship with their blood family, but this was a wholly unexpected turn. unfortunately, instead of the empathic response he knows is in there somewhere, what comes out is: “yes, that sounds like a perfectly healthy response to grief.”

you and me, moony by amethystheart2421

prompt 85: ambiguous loyalties during the first war. they’re both using each other to get a piece of sirius they can’t have. au in which remus was in ravenclaw and only became friends with sirius in later years at hogwarts. remus is staying at sirius's flat resting after a full moon when his old boyfriend shows up... his old boyfriend, who happens to be sirius's little brother, and a death eater.

hot library hunk by thefeistyrogue

sirius and james fight over who gets to serve the hot library hunk that comes into their cafe.

to say goodbye is not forever by greywolfandmoon

when remus lupin falls in love, he lets go. when he lets go, he writes. he stores all his letters in a shoebox underneath his bed. one day, to his horror, all his letters are magically sent out ...and James has an idea. inspired by to all the boys I've loved before by jenny han. no prior knowledge needed.

by any other name by under_the_willow ♡

it was chance that brought sirius to moony's new and used books on one cold winter's morning - chance, and james potter. he couldn't tell if it was destiny that put remus lupin behind the front desk.

destiny or not, sirius finds himself visiting the quaint bookstore more and more, until he can't imagine going a day without dropping by to talk to remus, and share a cup of tea.

he finds himself captivated by the amber-eyed man - who seems to have even more secrets than sirius himself. secrets that show themselves in mysterious scars and an unnamed illness, and mingle with the one sirius keeps tucked away in his pocket, in the shape of a wooden wand.

but secrets don't like being shoved to the side, and it's only a matter of time before the truth makes itself known.

scent of summer snow by tracingpatterns

remus had spent seven years watching james potter and sirius black. it was impossible not to the get drawn in by their magnetism, impossible not to watch them when they were together, impossible not to be affected by the way the whole world seemed to centre around them. it wasn't that he was jealous, exactly, but when he lay awake in bed listening to the two of them whisper, unaware that he was still awake, he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be a part of that.

love by the seaside by viwrites

remus is an artist who, after a particularly messy breakup, finds himself drawn to the cornish coast. his fresh start is disrupted, however, when he meets someone who reminds him an awful lot of his ex-boyfriend.

under the glow of neon lights by viwrites

james swallows the last of his drink and takes an ice cube in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and then cracking it between his molars. regulus wants to chase it down his throat – remus leans in close and does just that.

he can’t quite make it out from here, but he knows what it feels like. remus’ fingers digging half-moon marks into the soft flesh of james’ cheeks, holding him there and groaning into his mouth, the tangle of tongues – one ice cold and one blazing fucking hot.

regulus bites down hard on his lip and mumbles something that sounds like “sorry, I have to go.”

as it was by peachyybabe ♡

"you know it's not the same as it was" a story about falling in love with a stranger in a bookstore and learning how to live again.

best gift ever by spookeart ♡

“the sensation of his lover’s hands creeping under his clothes while he’s not even there and regulus is in a room full of people is exhilarating. regulus’ lips part in a silent cry, uncaring when drool leaks out of his mouth and drips on his lap. he can’t even make sense of the pleasure coursing through him that’s not his —and yet is his.”

or, james is devilish, so when he offers matching rings for regulus and him to wear, telling him they’re enchanted to connect their bodies so they can feel what the other feel, regulus expects nothing less from him than to use it at the least appropriate moment. and james doesn’t disappoint.

the thing by realityshowjunky

sirius continued: “I thought this little guy could keep you company while I’m at work.” remus laughed as the puppy planted lick upon lick across his face. “I love you,” he said.

sirius’ felt his own breath hitch. “I lo—”

“I love you,” remus repeated to the puppy, in a high-pitched voice sirius had never heard come out of his mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

-

in which Sirius buys Remus a puppy and immediately regrets it.

how remus got his groove back by realityshowjunky ♡

after two years of noncommittal sex : remus tells sirius that he loves him. sirius firmly rejects him. remus tries to move on. sirius is not happy.

or

remus lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, fabian prewett writes a book, gilderoy lockhart is a catfish, and sirius black realizes he's a fucking idiot.

our destiny in the stars by orphan_account ♡

having no luck in the dating field, and insecure about his body, remus checks out a dating website which offers the users the opportunity to get to know a person before seeing what they look like. it's during this time he meets sirius, an enthusiastic teacher--and they immediately click. when they agree to meet, remus sees a photo of sirius and immediately panics. he's too good looking to ever be interested in someone like remus. what the tawny-haired man doesn't know, is sirius has already checked him out online and has fallen head over heels for the adorable editor.

fiery-coloured world by orphan_account

and though remus had a thick jumper and coat, they were still soaked and frozen as they ran across the pavement, laughing with their cold fingers clinging to each other like it was noah’s bloody flood and they were about to be swept away.

then someone—sirius was never sure who, though he often liked to take credit for it—closed the distance and lips met lips. and that was all it took, really. besotted. smitten. twitterpated—the word remus liked most of all.

sirius knew it would be minutes, moments, seconds before his heart told him he was in love and there was no going back from the emotional tidal wave that was remus bloody lupin.

in daylight by essie_cat

after twelve years in azkaban and two years on the run, sirius finally has the chance to settle down. remus does whatever he can to encourage that.

(or, instead of being bitter and depressed at grimmauld place, sirius gets chubby and domestic and grudgingly happy.)

hot child in the city by shes_reckless

sex worker/motel manager au. remus lupin is a motel manager who works the graveyard shift at a motel notoriously frequented by sex workers. sirius black is a regular.

the boy in the bordello by yumenouveau

regency era - london- sirius has spent the last five years starting a new life for himself as a brothel worker until late one night a stranger enters his room wanting only to talk.

the truth in the dare by marie_tomas ♡

remus has no idea why the gryffindors always dare sirius to snog him every time james, peter and sirius play truth or dare. yet for some reason, he can't bring himself to complain about it.

a dance move too complex by dark_owl_records

“he’s trying to find me a girlfriend,” remus admits.

lily immediately snorts at the prospect, but then, when turning to say something, she sees his face. what he looks like he can’t be sure, but it’s bad enough that she stops herself and says, “no, you're serious? He’s really… wow, boys are stupid.”

“lily.”

“right, no, sorry. just. why does he-?”

“it’s a long story.”

shaking things up by noisemakers

bartender!au. in an irritatingly thoughtful plot by serial matchmakers james potter and lily evans, remus lupin winds up at a gay bar in the middle of London. it just so happens that the bartender is a friend of james', and he's taken a special interest in remus.

swipe left for safety by remy_writes5 ♡

his finger hesitated over a picture of someone who absolutely couldn’t be real. he had long, dark hair that fell well past his shoulders and grey eyes that remus thought must have been either contact lenses or photoshopped. high cheekbones and sinful lips the man looked like a model. remus was not about to get catfished by a picture that was probably of someone famous that he just didn’t recognize. besides, what kind of a name was sirius anyway? it was obviously fake.

he swiped left. not today, satan.

“hard pass on that guy, huh?” someone said from above remus. “ouch.”

turn on my charm by bethanlovescoffee ♡

sirius black is a youtube phenomenon. a youtube phenomenon who develops a crush on his video editor.

discards by picascribit ♡

when assistant librarian sirius black develops a crush on a college student at the seattle public library, all he wants to know is whether he's cool about dating trans guys. but remus's life is more complicated than sirius ever could have guessed.

we will fill the cracks together by newskyillusion

remus works in a library and at his parents pub in a small, welsh town.

sirius black is doing his phd on werewolves and comes to a small, welsh town to do some research.

the bark's not always worse by sableunstable

sometimes, the bite's just as bad.

forever by orphan_account

sirius black--coda, outcast, family disappointment, and fairly famous youtuber who runs a sign language channel siriuslysigns with his best mate, james.

remus lupin-- vegan hipster who dropped out of university and lives with his best mate peter, and together run howlingmoon's diy, barmy science experiments, and ukulele tutorials channel.

when sirius becomes enamoured with moony's singing, he dedicates a sign tutorial in hopes he'll be noticed. this leads to exchanging of shout-outs and videos, and what sirius hopes, is a little something more.

[mistymem0ryy]

The bliss of a nightly coffee

Yandere Zhongli x Reader (Fem)

Summary: In which you and Zhongli take a train towards the capital, and the scenery reminds you of the love you once held for each other.

Author's notes:  this story is partially based upon my ever constant train rides and the intriguing people I happen to see in them… In this scenario Zhongli is a renowned history professor and the reader is coded as also being in academia (the prestige and the subject of her role are left for the reader to decide). It is underlined throughout the story that Zhongli comes from not only a far wealthier background than reader but also possesses a far more traditional outlook on life than reader. (so sort of modern AU??)

TW: indications of alc0h0l, possible drugg1ng and just yandere themes in general?

No beta, we survive the trenches this way.

If there was something within this life from which you could always find a morsel of unreasonable contentment, it would certainly be 1st class train voyages.

There is a fantastical element inherent to their glamorous silence, a distancing comfort to be found slithering away within the limits of an empty carriage.

Some years ago, such overbearingly enchanting ambiance would have made you shiver in an anxious, and perhaps even futile, attempt at controlling your senses. But much has changed since then. You have learnt to bear the cold.

What they never tell you about this sort of high-grade carriages is that all human warmth vanishes from its encasing, it crawls away into the opposite confines of the racing locomotive, reaching its warm fingertips towards the lingering chatter tucked away from diamond adorned ears. It’s as if the laws of thermodynamics had their ticket confiscated - thermal equilibrium but a mere folktale traded from mouth to mouth.

You can never find within yourself the firm decision to either devote your adoration to the rushing nature beyond the tainted windows or to contemplate the inner workings of the countless adornments within your carriage. 

Eventually you decided to draw your gaze away from the rushing fields, there was nothing there left for you.

Rococo with an uncanny mixture of neoclassical decor and an added aroma of Turkish coffee that made you sight from the sheer delectability of it. You have been abstaining from tea as much as possible these days. You aren’t able to clearly point out the reason why but coffee simply happens to feel more enjoyable. Warmer. Safer.

You have tasted enough coffee in your life to know if something’s wrong.

You stretch your fingers towards the pastry patiently waiting within its porcelain platter, a raspberry macaroon, not too big, not too small, the aroma it exudes carries with it a sugary scent, a freshness you've been craving for a long time.

You close your eyes as your lips meet the firm shell of the pastry once shared between Italian monks and later on between French aristocrats, shutting your sight away so that your taste buds may enjoy the smooth ganache to the fullest. 

But, as with any miraculous comfort in this life, a fruitless end must too be met. Your moment of bliss is ripped away from you as a gloved hand meets your partially naked shoulder. Fingers nearing the laced cord whose firmness held a beguiling jade stone in place, gracefully adorning the slight valley between your collar bones. You do not have to open your eyes to know to whom that hand belongs to.

Fine leather, the work of a seamstress who has mastered her craft with years of hardship. Yves Saint Laurent Autumn collection. A pair of gloves that could have paid your rent back in university. The surface is supposed to be comforting, delicate even, and yet its texture makes your skin crawl by some unexplored aversion. As you open your eyes your sight lands first and foremost upon the dark glove nearing your neck, they were beautiful, you had chosen them for him after all, there was always this glowing look upon his features every time you cowered to his whims and went on the ‘retail therapy sessions’ he so advocated for. 

Most of the time they were simple excuses for him to blow entire checks on bags you would only wear once or twice. Countless pieces of gold jewelry that he would ‘oh so graciously’ request the store’s employees to put upon your skin himself. Fingertips glazing over collarbones and warm breaths reaching for your exposed skin making your body freeze in sudden alert.

You have been married for years. A marriage built upon a fruitful relationship, which in its turn was constructed upon one of the greatest friendships you’ve ever had the blessing of creating. And yet it was always there, lingering. This fear you find no rational justification for.

It's moments like these that take you back to your early university days. When the fear wasn’t that prominent, perhaps it hadn’t taken root yet, or perhaps it had always been there, hiding beneath the layering soil of the earth, only to take bloom once you had buried yourself too deep to the point where escape was but a mere fantasy.

‘I have been looking for you my dear.’

His voice comes out honeyed and sickly sweet, like a tarte tatin, freshly cooked from a little boulangerie in the south of France. You remember visiting it with Zhongli during your first year together, you had been the one to order since your French was better than his. You had taken a childish pride in knowing that at least in this scenario you happened to possess the upper hand. Back in the day you did not read much into this sentiment, though your present self genuinely wished you had done so. 

Your desire towards saccharine things has become much more prominent as of late, they make your teeth ache in momentary torture but even the pain has its own characteristic bliss.

‘Did you hear me, my love?’

Your eyes finally meet his, they are lightly covered by his growing bangs, the contrast between his dark strands and his golden eyes makes it look as if each of his orbs have been divided in two. It gives him a certain dragonic look you were never afraid to point out even when you were mere acquaintances. His tall stature and classic manner of holding himself always gave you the notion that he carried something sacred, something ancient within him. There was a certain allure to the renowned history professor that always made everyone stop momentarily and simply be carried away by this archaic aura surrounding him.

‘I am sorry… I wasn’t here, could you repeat it?’

‘I asked you if you think it is wise to be drinking coffee at this hour?’

Though a stranger would only be capable of perceiving the teasing tone within his statement, you could clearly discern the underlying patronizing approach of his question, not exactly in a condescending manner and yet not too far away from it either.

‘I find that independently of the hour, there is nothing as comforting as a cup of coffee, does it bother you in any way?’

You were testing the waters. Not too confronting to cause him insult and yet not too diminishing in order to cause your own ego injury. These days you never knew what could set Zhongli off. Or yourself for that matter.

‘It is not exactly a matter of bothering me, rather it is a preference of being able to sleep alongside my wife without all the shuffling that is provided from someone with an overly caffeinated body’

To that statement no quick or witty stab back could be brought forth. It was true. Night and sleep haven’t been your dearest companions as of late, but you knew for certain that caffeine had nothing to do with the matter. It was mostly unspent energy, guarded anger you feared to let out all at once for you could not clearly predict the following consequences. So you did what you thought wisest and held it encased within your body, it sipped out slowly but surely, its presence made known in the lightest of manners possible. Be it troubled sleep, long periods of spacing out or a recurrently reappearing frown within your features.

In your own defense you did not think you would stay in the train for such a long period of time, you had only been told to pack your bags in order to accompany your husband to one of his academic conferences in the capital, naively thinking that once he started the engine of his car he would take you both to the nearest airport. But it had not been the case, your husband had decided that it was certainly the best moment within your relationship to surprise you with a 5 day long luxury train voyage towards your initial destination, yet again without any regard to your view upon the matter itself.

In a way, you gathered all your forces in order to rationalize Zhongli’s actions. He is an intelligent man. You married one of the most well known Professors of his field for god’s sake. You knew the strength it took to survive academia and though Zhongli certainly had the upper hand due to his family history, his achievements could not all be simply reduced to his family name.

Perhaps this was all some sort of reaction to your breakdown some weeks ago, in a way you certainly regret it, but in another you definitely saw it coming. You like to tell yourself that Zhongli was attentive enough to see it coming too. 

There wasn’t really any sort of revelation that made you blow up in the heat of the moment, rather it was a prolonged and painful accumulation of both annoyance and rage,clambering one on top of another until a single comment and annoyed sigh made it all fall apart from its static grandeur.

‘If your job at university bothers you so deeply I have offered you previously the comfort necessary to leave it, yet you always deny it.’

You liked to think that he himself did not consider the possibility that you would trade all of those hard earned diplomas to fulfill whatever fantasy marinated in his head ever since you both attended one of his friends' wedding.

 Before that night, he had never mentioned it to you in such direct speech and such a face to face approach, about how he wished for children, your undivided attention, family vacations and you always and strictly by his side. He had been slightly inebriated, too much osmanthus wine you presumed. The mention of ‘the measures to which he would go in order to be sure of your safety within his own embrace alone’ were enough to cut the conversation immediately. Blame it on the alcohol, you reassured yourself. 

You had reacted badly, but in all honestly who could blame you at this point, you did not want Zhongli to tell you that if you were in such distress you could always become his fulltime housewife, you wanted him to give you strength and be there for you whenever the circumstances got worse. And yet, the prospect itself of leaving your job and living off of Zhongli’s wealth wasn’t what struck the most dread within your already dismaying mind, rather it was the look that took over his features while he mulled over such thoughts. 

How his eyes quickly darkened and a slight smirk pushed the ends of his lips towards his rose tinted cheeks. Blame it on the alcohol, you pleaded yourself.

You guessed that, even within the most reputable and honorable of men, selfishness had its way of slithering into one's tongue, scales rushing through the soaring throat and from there finally reaching into the pumping heart, that is of course, if the heart itself hasn’t been overturned into one of its countless dominions already.

The same man that revealed to you the sickest of desires through a gaze alone, now looked at you with a mixture of concern and scrutiny swarming within his golden eyes.

‘Perhaps a chamomile tea will permit your nerves to be calmed? We wouldn't want you to reach our destination enveloped in complete exhaustion now would we, my gem?’

‘NO- I mean, I- there is no need… I have told you countless times that the tea here makes me nauseous, will you stop nagging me with it for a second…’ Annoyance was all you could procure to hide away your true concerns, you could not shiver in front of him nor make too drastic a move, you even made a point of not looking too inquisitively towards the outside world beyond the windows. 

You had made countless ventures towards the capital during your early adult years, memories of visiting your old companion Beidou or going antique hunting with Zhongli during the initial stages of your friendship flooded your memory as if in a sudden flash. A 7 hour long train ride you usually had to book in advance to get the best deals as a struggling university student, a 7 hour long train ride that you had shared with friends and acquaintances that have come and gone, a 7 hour long train ride whose destiny certainly wasn’t the same you were previously made believe you were now heading towards. 

You cannot be certain when and how you noticed it, if it was the outside fauna that simply did not sit well with your fading memory, if it was the fervent way Zhongli made sure whatever words were shared between you and the staff were not enough to make them linger for long, if it was his embrace that once a source of delight and comfort now became one of alarm and wariness.

‘There is no need to show such intense aversion to it my dear, I would only add one or two valerian roots, nothing too drastic.’ The mirth dripping from his tongue nearly made you convulse. The heavy grip upon your shoulder lessened while long fingers reached for your chin, forcing your gaze to remain connected to his own.

‘Now let’s go back to our carriage, I believe you are in dire need of a good night of sleep, if it were not for my constant nagging that you so seem to dislike, how could you ever hope to survive this by yourself?’ He lightly chuckled after a careful change of intonation to smooth over the unfamiliar underlinings of his phrase.

If that wasn’t meant to be a threat then you did not know what it was meant to be. The abruptness of his words was accompanied by a sudden pang of fatigue throughout the entirety of your body. You are tired, you have been so tired for so long. It was as if exhaustion had suddenly reached for your throat and forbade you from even uttering a plea against its relentless grip. But how could you even dare to fight against it? Perhaps fighting wasn't even a viable choice anymore.

Could you even find comfort in alienating your own self from reality and bathing in fantasies of the past for much longer? Could you keep telling yourself there was nothing wrong with the windows? With the decor? With the coffee?

You could feel an amalgam of tears creeping its way from the ends of your torpid eyes, and yet you fought their arrival valiantly despite being fully aware of their inevitable fall. You could not find any feasible explanation for why you felt so much so suddenly, it was as if the control over your physique had been stolen and now somebody else spoke through its movements, through its urgings, through its lechery.

Until some days ago you genuinely and wholeheartedly believed that you were the person who knew Zhongli the best. Now you have been struck with the realization that you could not be further from the truth. 

Your mind wanders through sleepless nights spent restfully within the embrace of silk sheets and the warmth of golden eyes, through rushed visits to the archeological museum before its closing time so he could explain the historical background of some new exposition, through shared cups of tea during nightfall and an offered mug of your most coveted home brewed coffee the morning following, through discussions of philosophical movements alongside some osmanthus wine and inebriated laughter, through sudden embraces and rushing kisses that procured every single confine of your body as if to consume you whole.

Before your mind could even return wholly to reality, your body had already been laid upon cotton sheets perfumed with agarwood and slight notes of bergamot. Or was it patchouli? You could definitely uncover some layers of patchouli and perhaps even some modest nudges of vanilla here and there.

All of a sudden your careful analysis of smell was obstructed by an intense scent of ripe apricots alongside that of a honeyed autumn breeze touched by floral nuances you have grown familiar with over the years.

You smelt it before you heard it reach your husband’s crystal cup. 

Osmanthus wine.

You wanted to garner the strength to ask him where you were going, what were his intentions and if this was the reason behind his insistence on you taking the majority of his favorite pieces of your jewelry collection on this ‘trip’.

You knew Zhongli wasn’t a man of sudden changes, he took time as a relic and would never cower beneath sudden urges, so for how long had he been planning this? For how long had you been sleeping encaged by the warm embrace of the man that was planning to do god knows what with you?

The silent carriage was abruptly occupied by a deep gulp and a purging sight. You could hear footsteps approaching and yet you couldn't even twist your body towards their direction. Could you yell for help? And if you did would anyone even hear you? Come for you? Or would they instead have their worries ‘proven’ irrational by a charismatic smile of the man now lingering over you?

‘I am deeply sorry that things had to reach this point, my love’ 

No you’re not. 

His features were twisted and yet harmonious. You knew what his sorrowful face looked, or perhaps you did not at all. Perhaps you had fooled yourself into believing you could know someone as well as yourself when you could barely hope for a slight tinge of human honesty. 

‘Know simply that every single action I take is taken with the intent of proving to you that there is no place in this world crafted for yourself besides my own arms, I have given you years to wander about and reach that conclusion by yourself but I fear that you have become more unruly than I forethought….’ He kisses your forehead as one would kiss that of a lover on a moonless night, his lips still veiled with a light coat of expensive wine and a thousand lies.

At this moment, you could hope for many things, you could pray to some metaphysical entity inhabiting realms beyond the material, you could even plea for mythological furies to avenge what is to come, but perhaps blissful ignorance was the only thing potent enough to keep you ashore now.

Blame it on the alcohol, you implored yourself.

Blame it on anything, except the man you swore to love until the grip of hades were too much to bear.

[sophie1973]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @taste-thewaste, @wordsofhoneydew , @iboatedhere @onthewaytosomewhere @stellarmeadow

I started this one shot based on a prompt I got following an exchange with my friend Robs on Twitter, and it was supposed to be this short, light little story, but it unexpectedly turned into this long, slightly angsty lovefest between these two idiots. I'm 6.5k in and not nearly done.

Have a little snippet, as well as the tags, under the cut.

Twenty minutes ago, Alex finally emerged from the convention, his stomach growling loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything all day (and barely drank, too – thankfully, June isn’t there to berate him for it). He stumbles upon a small food cart and, on a whim, gets some fried rice. He never expected it to be such a transcendent culinary experience right in the middle of Earl’s Court.

 Now, as he makes his way to the subway station to return to his hotel and pack for his flight back to New York the following day, he is utterly engrossed in the magic of his meal. So absorbed, in fact, that he crosses the street without really paying attention. Just as he is about to take another blissful bite, fate intervenes in the form of a sleek, green Jaguar moving—thankfully—slowly. It makes gentle contact with Alex’s leg, causing him to stumble. He watches with horror as his beloved rice flies through the air like confetti at a really sad parade before the box lands with a splat, scattering grains and pieces of vegetables across the pavement. Alex sits there, injured but utterly heartbroken at seeing his much-needed, savory meal now a mess on the ground. The Jaguar driver hurriedly got out and apologized furiously. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you alright?” the driver asked, concern etched on his face. Kneeling next to Alex, he places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he enquires, and Alex finally diverts his eyes from his lost meal and turns to the man, ready to let him know what he thinks of his reckless driving. (Never mind that he was the one recklessly crossing the street without looking). But for a very rare time in his life, Alex is struck speechless. Tall, with tousled golden blond hair and striking blue eyes, the man is gorgeous. He’s wearing jeans and a pale pink polo shirt, the perfect poster for a preppy British aristocrat or, even better, a real-life Prince Charming.

Tagging with no pressure : @bitbybitwrites @ahistoricdistraction

@fullerthanskippy @caterpills @miss-minnelli @thesleepyskipper

@kj-bee @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @firenati0n @theprinceandagcd

@swoonoveryou3 @strwbrryagcd @piratefalls @duchessdepolignaca03 @blueeyedgrlwrites

@tailsbeth-writes @porcelainmortal